Ensammast i Sverige
by Aiden Empyre
Summary: Berwald is an attack dog for a local mob boss. Tino is an ex-prostitute turned freelance photographer. A single meeting between two people with so little in common becomes something neither expected.
1. Chapter 1

Berwald's first years had been spent in a small, not particularly well-off, but reasonably nice neighborhood. His mother had stayed at home to raise him while his father worked as a carpenter, building furniture. The things that stood out in his memory were the smell of sawdust that clung to his father, and his hands. They were scarred and callused from years of hard work, and huge. Berwald had been able to fit his entire hand in just the center of the man's palm. The two of them were almost exactly alike, mussed blond hair, stern expression, tall and powerfully built, right down to the glasses. However, Berwald had gotten his stunning blue-green eyes from his mother, a slim, tall blond woman who was as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside.

The darkness had always frightened Berwald a little, or at least the things his child imagination conjured up to hide in the darkness did. Whenever he was alone in the dark, he always found comfort in his mother's lullaby, and had sung it to himself for hours once when he couldn't sleep from nightmares. But here, now, the dark wasn't so scary, not with his pappa beside him, not with the large warm hand that wrapped around his driving away the fears. Nothing would be able to hurt him when his pappa was there.

The shadows in front of them were particularly deep, nothing penetrating them. They were taking their shortcut home, like always, even though mamma didn't like it and would scold pappa for going through there, especially with Berwald. The shadows moved. Berwald noticed, but his pappa did not, and before he thought to point it out, a figure broke from the darkness, shouting something at them, but Berwald didn't hear what. He was too distracted by the gun aimed at his pappa. The gun barked three times, and Berwald's pappa was on the ground, one hand gripping at the spreading blackness on his chest, the other tightly secured around Berwald's. The little boy crouched beside his father, watching as the life bled out of him onto the cold cement, and he started to sing. That was how he was found later by the police, singing a lullaby, his head pressed to his father's shoulder.

* * *

Tino's parents had never fought like this before. He was, of course, far too young to understand why they were arguing, and what it meant when his father accused his mother of having an affair. All he remembered later was that his mother had suddenly screamed, and the car had swerved, and then his parents weren't there anymore. He couldn't see through the red running into his eyes, and while at first all he felt was numb, soon pain began flaring up all over him. Then everything went black, and the next thing he remembered was how badly it hurt when someone pulled him out of the car. He started screaming and struggling, crying for his äiti and isä until his throat felt raw. When he saw the tarps on the ground, and saw a hand hanging out from beneath one, he immediately fell silent. He passed out again in the ambulance, tears still running down his face.

He woke up again in the hospital. It had already been days from the wreck, and someone had brought his favorite teddy, a little white puppy, and set it beside his bed. A lady came in and told him that when he got better, he had to go live with a new family. His äiti and isä were gone. The tears started up all over again.

* * *

Berwald had changed after his pappa's death. He was quieter, more distant and reserved, no longer a happy, bright nine-year-old as he should have been. He changed even further as he grew older. He knew his mother tried, but something in her had broken as well, and then she got sick. Berwald never let his emotions show. On the outside, he could seem perfectly calm and unruffled, but on the inside, he was a storm. One day at school, after he had gotten next to no sleep for listening to his mother crying all night long, he was cornered by a group of boys in the bathroom. It didn't matter to them that he was bigger than they, that he was bigger than all the boys in their grade. What mattered was that he was strange, a geek, and always alone.

They followed him in, and he turned, suspicious on instinct. Sure enough, they were spreading out on either side of him, going in for the kill. Their leader, a short boy with a round face and silvery blond hair, began the mocking, starting with Berwald's glasses. _How unoriginal,_ the larger boy thought to himself. None of the taunting was. He had heard it all before, from a million and one other kids. He didn't care anymore. He was tired, and wanted to get this over with. He attempted to pass around the other boy. The boy punched him, sending his glasses flying.

Berwald was never quite able to explain what happened next. Something snapped inside the boy, filling his insides with ice, and suddenly, he was crashing into the smaller child, throwing him across the bathroom. The other boy's head cracked against the sink, blood seeping from the wound, and he screamed. Berwald was on him again, pounding a fist into the kid's face repeatedly, until blood spattered from his nose and his lips were split and the boy was sobbing uncontrollably. His friends had just stood there in utter shock before several teachers rushed in and dragged the raging boy off his classmate.

Berwald wound up in the principal's office with his mother, who just managed to convince the man to give him a second chance. His grades and previously clean record, as well as the tragic event in his past, barely scraped him out of the realm of outright expulsion and into that of detention, every day, for three weeks. _Better than nothing_, he supposed. _Not like I have anything better to do._

* * *

Tino's new home was far from his old one with his parents. He had to say goodbye to his school friends, who hadn't known what to say to him, and relocate to a house where he had to live with three other children, two of them other foster kids. They all seemed okay. One was even more shy and frightened than him. But he decided to make the best of the situation. At least he now had sisters and a brother, where he used to be an only child. He had someone to play with.

It was nearly a week after he arrived at the house that he woke one night to a sound at his bedroom door. The door silently glided open, to reveal the only kid in the house who wasn't a foster child. He was older than Tino by several years, but nice. He had tried to help the boy feel more comfortable. Now, he padded into the room and shut the door, watching the younger boy strangely. Tino wasn't sure why he was staring, but it made him a little nervous. The elder came right up to him, whispering to him to be quiet, since they weren't supposed to be up and would get in trouble if they were too loud. Then he told Tino something bizarre. He told him how pretty he was. A hand reached out, fingers stroking down the younger boy's face.

Now, a ball of anxiety was resting in Tino's chest. Something felt very wrong, with how the other was acting and how he was talking and how he touched Tino. Then the older boy's hand reached down, brushing against Tino's private parts, and he slid back on the bed, hugging his stuffed puppy close. It was a bad move. The larger pinned him down on the bed, instructing him in a venomous whisper not to make a sound or he'd kill him. Tino complied, trembling beneath the weight of the other's body. Hands at his waist began tugging at his pajama pants, sliding them off along with his underwear, and then touching him again. The breathy whispers continued in the darkness, his foster brother telling him how sweet and pretty he was, over and over, and Tino felt sick. He saw the elder's pants slide down, and he was rolled onto his belly before a hand clamped over his mouth and pain shot through his slim body.

When he was through, the older boy left Tino lying on the bed, crying and hurting all over again, after threatening once more to kill him if he ever told. Tino lay still, unwilling to move for the pain that shot through his back when he tried. Something sticky and wet ran down the backs of his legs and on the blankets. The next day, he almost didn't get up for school, but he forced himself, and walked with a severe limp all day long. Instead of chattering with his classmates and playing, he stayed quiet and alone. His teacher asked if he was okay several times, eventually giving up when she was repeatedly stonewalled by the young boy. After that day, Tino regularly came to school with a limp, until one day, he was told to pack up his things, because he was moving to a new home. A sense of relief at this information filled him, and he was beyond thankful to be leaving this house. It was the first in a series of bad homes. He wished later he'd never gotten his hopes up.

After he survived the crash, everyone said he should have died. Everyone said his survival was a miracle. Everyone said he was extremely lucky. He must have angels looking out for him. He wondered what sort of angels would save a child from death just to have the child wish for it later on, because anything would be better than the hell he was suffering through now.

* * *

Berwald was thirteen when his mother was taken from him. The anger he had discovered that day in the bathroom had not left him in that single fight. If anything, it had grown more powerful. He would seem calm one minute and lash out unexpectedly the next, which was part of how he even survived on the streets. Rather than being left at the mercy of the child welfare system, he made the decision to run away, disappear before he was forced somewhere he didn't want to be. He survived any way he could, getting odd jobs with people who didn't care enough to ask questions, stealing when it was called for, - though he always felt guilty - sleeping wherever he found a place remotely safe and comfortable.

Often, in the back streets and alleys of the city, he was cornered by groups of other teenagers or adults, similarly homeless or desperate. Where they generally had a few friends to back them up, he was solitary, young, always alone, and thus assumed an easy target, despite his size and fierce appearance. This was swiftly proved otherwise, and after the first few street brawls, they learned to leave the intimidating teenager alone.

Some, as always though, never learned. There was a group of boys, all older than Berwald, that ran the streets near his part of town, and his usual territory and theirs overlapped. Generally, he managed to avoid a run-in, but on occasion, they would come across him and he would run, try to escape rather than fight, in an attempt to control the beastly fury that could rise at the slightest provocation. If he ran far enough fast enough, they gave up chase and left him alone. But in one case, they decided he needed to learn to stay away from their territory, and the best way to teach this was through violence.

Loping through back alleys, Berwald suddenly discovered he was being followed. It wasn't anything new. He was used to being stalked by those out to see he left their haunts alone. He recognized some of the boys though, from the gang that often ran him out of this portion of the city. Their boundaries seemed to constantly change, and he could never keep track of where they usually were. Now, for some reason, this group was following without giving chase. He sped up a little, determined to stay ahead of them so he could escape into his haven of broad, open streets around the park. He rounded a corner into an alley and froze. A line of teenage boys stood along the middle of the street. Waiting for him.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Berwald saw that the other half of the gang had come up close behind him, and most carried some sort of weapon. The boy cursed before continuing warily into the alley, trying to keep tabs on both groups of teenagers. Closing in on him tighter and tighter, they stopped, as though waiting.

A shout cued them all to attack at the trapped boy. Berwald lunged for a boy with a heavy section of pipe in his hand, slamming him easily out of the way with his greater weight. A gap formed, but before he could make his escape, someone fixed a hand on the back of his jacket, dragging him back. He was flung by multiple sets of hands to the center of the ring. While the others prepared to strike, Berwald drew the knife he kept in his boot for emergencies, fight instincts overrunning him. The pack backed off warily at the flash of the blade. Despite their numbers and arms, none wished to be the one who fell on the knife. They continued to circle, testing Berwald, looking for good openings to get in without being slashed in the process. The first boy to get irritated with this process leaped forward, hefting a baseball bat, and was slashed down the arm viciously.

Screaming in pain, the kid was half-dragged away by his mates, all enraged at the injury to one of their own. The next several to leap were also slashed at, but Berwald only made contact with two before they sprang back out of reach. One had even managed a lucky shot to his left rib cage with another piece of pipe. The boy in the center continued to spin, turning every which way to prevent being attacked suddenly from behind, which is exactly what happened when he paused for breath. With remarkable reflexes, Berwald whirled, the knife flashed, and he felt it sink into something fairly soft.

The surrounding ring of boys fell quiet in shock as their comrade gasped on the end of Berwald's blade before collapsing with a gurgle. They all sprinted off into the darkness, leaving the dying boy on the alley ground, with Berwald crouching over him, hands pressed to the wound in suffocating guilt. Tears streamed down the face of the young man beneath him, and the boy grabbed Berwald's wrist weakly, just for something to hold onto. Blood oozed up between Berwald's fingers and ran from the boy's mouth, then bubbled as he breathed one last gurgle and relaxed, eyes still on the blond above him.

* * *

Tino had skipped three grades when he was younger. He was thirteen and a year from graduating high school when his great-aunt found him. He had never met the woman in his life, but she was willing to remove him from the foster system and give him a home until he came of age. When he heard she lived in Sweden, however, he experienced some wariness. He had never left Finland before, and there was something in him that didn't want to leave, despite the bouncing from home to home, never sure if he'd end up in one of the good ones or one of those personal hells, hoping he'd end up in one where the parents just didn't care. Now, he faced the tangible possibility of having a real home, something solid to hold on to. It was a strange feeling.

The day he moved to Sweden was the best day of his life, since sometime before the accident. His aunt was a kind old lady, related to him on his mother's side, and sharing the family's distinctive violet-hued eyes. She agreed to support him in any way possible, help him pay for college any way she could, generally improve his life by any feasible means, and treat him like a son. That was the best part of her agreement to Tino. He would be someone's son, not just a babysitter for the five other children in the household, or a burden, or a punching bag, or any of the other things he'd been in the past.

With his particularly brilliant mind, some searching and hard work, he managed to get a scholarship to college, not full-ride, but it meant that he and his aunt wouldn't have to find a way to pay for everything themselves. It relied on the condition of his grades though as well. Easy, he thought to himself. Things really couldn't get any better. He would get through college, become a psychiatrist, something he'd wanted to do since he learned about that career path during class research. Everything would be perfect. He'd be okay.

Sophomore year of college, his great-aunt died. The incident hit Tino like a brick wall. He lost sleep, didn't eat as much, his grades began flagging, and he knew at this rate he'd lose his scholarship. The one grade he was particularly worried about was, oddly enough, his literature grade. It had fallen into a downward slide along with him, and if he didn't fix it, he'd lose the scholarship, the inheritance his aunt had left him would dry up, and he'd have to drop out. It stressed him for weeks, before he decided to meet with his lit teacher and try to come to some agreement.

"Mr. Kirkland, you must understand, I need this scholarship," Tino insisted, barely blocking the all-out anxiety and borderline panic from his voice. "If I lose this, I have nothing. All my plans for the future go down the drain."

"I'm afraid I can't do anything about it, Mr. Väinämöinen. I would if I could. You have to find your own way to fix this." Arthur straightened his desk and leaned back against the edge. "I can try to help you fix it, if you're genuinely willing to try. It'll require a good deal of work, though."

"Fine. Anything. I'll do anything. I swear, I'll work harder than any of your other students. I'll do whatever you tell me."

"Well, that's definitely a start. I have a feeling you'll keep to your word. What do you say we start tomorrow? You come by after class and we'll start going over things you can do, and I'll help you fix your problem. Agreed?" The Briton looked him in the eyes sternly, verdant green gaze sparking.

"Agreed. I'll be here tomorrow," Tino promised, and practically skipped down the hall outside the classroom, the nausea that had built in him since the grade slide lightened.

"Mr. Kirkland?" Tino edged into the empty classroom the next day, violet eyes searching for his literature teacher. He dropped his bag on one of the front desks, preparing to wait for his teacher.

"Tino," Arthur greeted him, striding out of his office. "Nice to see you again. Just give me a moment. I need to get something." He disappeared back into the side room.

Tino absently wandered the room as he awaited the teacher. He weaved back and forth through the aisles, watching his feet all the while, sidestepping carelessly positioned chairs, and had nearly reached the top row when the Englishman returned, carrying a stack of heavy books.

"Okay," the elder began as he set the stack on a desk on the front row. "Now, you don't need to read all of this. I'm just going to point out things that will help you. Also…" He waved a sheet of paper in the air. "You'll want to read these. They aren't course material, per se, but they follow well enough, and it isn't difficult reading. At least they won't be for you."

"Deal." Tino bounded back down to the fore of the room. "So where do we start?"

It was nearly dark, and they were still poring over one of the larger books Arthur had brought from his office. The teacher stood behind his student, tracing his finger down the pages, pointing out the most important portions, explaining how Tino could strengthen different areas that would improve his grade. Arthur had leaned forward, getting into his explanation of the text, until the Finn could feel the other's warm breath on his shoulder. Unaware of quite how close his teacher was, Tino turned his head, and his lips met softly with the corner of Arthur's mouth. Both males froze before Tino jerked back, apologizing profusely for the incident, but Arthur reached out and touched the boy's cheek, turning him back to face into emerald eyes.

Tino, suddenly not caring about boundaries between teacher and student, or the difference between their ages, kissed the Briton full on the lips. The kiss was reciprocated with fervor, and he opened his mouth to allow the searching tongue entrance. He told himself he couldn't help what happened next. All he knew was that two hours after the fact, he found himself naked on top of his teacher's desk, worn out and sweaty, tangled with the Englishman. Arthur's fingertips traced down the center of the Finn's chest as the man held him close, wondering what sort of disaster he'd gotten himself and his student into.

* * *

On a back alley in the city's darker, shadier section, there was a large, ugly gray building shoved in among all the old shops and abandoned shells of apartments. Known to few, it was generally ignored as just another slum and passed without acknowledgment. The only reason Berwald succeeded in discovering what would be his new haven was a need for shelter in the outburst of a storm. He had, at one point, loved storms, appreciating their might, their ability to make him feel so insignificant. Now, they just served as another reminder of how things used to be, and where he was now, alone on the streets. He had ducked swiftly in the door when he found it unlocked, and had thus found himself in the middle of a crowded, deafeningly loud room, smelling of sweat and metal and the tang of blood. The soaking wet Swede had cautiously woven through the mass of bodies, all cheering or booing, to see the ring and the fighters.

He watched the series of matches all night long, lingering after the final one, when everyone else was exiting into the rain, rushing for vehicles and shelter. He was the last person left in the gym, save one man. He was shorter than Berwald by several inches, but built like a bomb shelter, with short, scruffy iron gray hair and clear, pale blue eyes. He finished the post-fight cleanup as Berwald watched from a corner, surveying the entirety of the gym uninhibited by crowds, then approached the young man.

"Somethin' I can help you with?" the man growled, not unkindly. His voice was simply very rough, harsh even, not unlike Berwald's own could sound. He appeared to be sizing the blond up, if personal experience on Berwald's part said anything, only he was used to more ill-intentioned eyes doing the sizing.

"Nn. J ust trying to get out of the rain," replied the younger with a shrug. He met the man's sharp eyes as best as he could, his nearsightedness making the world gently blurred, like the colors in an oil painting. He had recently misplaced his (slightly out of prescription) glasses at one of his usual haunts, and had been trying to make do without until he found them again.

"Mmm… Your parents don't mind you bein' out this late? 'Specially in this part of town?" the man asked. Berwald stilled, then shook his head. "You sure?"

"They're dead," confessed the blond, staring distantly off over the man's shoulder.

"Ah. My apologies."

"You couldn't've known." Berwald stood, flexing his broadening shoulders and turning to leave. "I'll get out of your way."

"Ah, there's no need. Could use the company, if we're bein' honest. Might as well stay a while. Keep you out of the rain, at least. Name's Axel, by the way, Axel Dahlstrom" the man introduced himself.

"Berwald Oxenstierna," replied the younger. They shook, and the warm, rough, callused hand Axel offered triggered memories in the back of Berwald's mind, of sawdust and varnish and a deep, soft voice. His grip tightened.

"Quite a handshake you got there. How 'bout we find you somewhere to stay the night, huh?" Axel offered. With a nod, Berwald followed him through the gym.

* * *

Things had worked out, as far as Tino could figure as he lay beside his literature teacher in bed, still waiting for his chest to stop its heaving breaths and listening to his partner's beside him. His back was to Arthur as he calmed himself, and he felt a hand brush his shoulder, fall still, and pull back. Tino paused, sensing the hesitation, and rolled to face the Brit. Arthur lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, expressionless.

"Arthur?" The Finn propped himself up on his elbows, gazing down at his lover. "Are you all right?"

"No," Arthur replied, uncertainly. "I don't think this is working." He refused to look at Tino.

The boy was stunned. His lips parted in hurt and surprise, and he searched the man's face for any sign that he didn't mean what he was saying. There were none.

"Wait, what do you mean, this isn't working?" Tino asked, voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

"I mean exactly what I say," Arthur told him. "This, what we're doing… It's wrong. I just can't do this anymore. I wish it didn't have to be like this, and I'm sorry, but we have to stop."

"What-- How can you do this to me? You know you're the only thing keeping me from failing and losing _everything_. You agreed after the first time. You said you would fix my problems. You can't just back out now. Not now, when I need this most. It's just a couple months until the end of semester, and I'll be out of your class, and you won't have to deal with me again. We'll both have gotten what we wanted."

"I met someone." Arthur finally met Tino's eyes. "I met someone, and I think… He's important to me. As much as I care for you, he means something more, something lasting. And I cannot, in good conscience, be with you behind his back, even if you need our deal to pass. I'm sorry. And though you're very mature, you're so young, Tino. You can find a way to make this better. I'll continue to fix your grade, even if we no longer continue the current arrangement. Does that sound agreeable to you?"

Tino felt numb, and just allowed his eyes to glaze over as he stared into space. He was being abandoned. His grade would be maintained, but he was being left for someone else, someone who "meant something more". He had never imagined that the breaking of their arrangement would hurt, certainly never this badly. It had been a means to an end to him, in the beginning. When he had developed any sort of sentimental feelings toward Arthur, he had no idea. And he resented the man severely now, for doing this to him.

"No. It doesn't sound agreeable to me. Screw you, Arthur. I don't need you anymore." Tino rolled out of bed and hunted for his clothing in a rushed silence. Arthur, of course, panicked. The Brit thought Tino would expose their affair out of anger and spite, which would lead to the loss of his job, and so much more. Tino curtly explained that he would never do such a thing before storming out the door, not once looking back.

* * *

Axel had become like a father to Berwald, giving him food, a place to stay, a job, getting him back into school, and teaching him how to fight for real, not just the street-brawl moves he already had. The old coach discovered a raw talent in the boy and now took the time helping him sharpen it until he became a truly formidable fighter, one of the most skilled Axel had trained, the man told Berwald. The other fighters became friends, almost like extended family. Life took an upturn. Berwald had an excellent shot at scholarships despite his lost time at school. Then he met Søren.

He met the Dane when he was sixteen, the other man eight years older. The moment Søren Christiansen first introduced himself, Berwald later realized, he should have known something was off. It was just a general feeling of something ominous about the Dane, an aura of danger he gave off. But Berwald ignored his better instincts, befriending the young man. Of all the mistakes he had ever made, this was to be the worst.

It started with simple discussions, Søren talking about the people he knew, telling stories about fun times, et cetera. Then he began doing Berwald favors. These were no small favors either, and it became harder and harder, then absolutely impossible to pay the Dane back. Søren began trying to convince Berwald to join his crew. The Swede was uncertain, as he had been about Søren from the beginning. But Søren kept trying. And eventually the younger's resolve ran out. He one day found himself accepting the Dane's offer to meet a group of his friends after he got off work, and later found himself cornered in an alley by a pack of athletic, predatory males. Søren stood among them. They jumped him, albeit unsuccessfully, as he managed to fight the lot of them off, though not without sustaining several injuries. He would never forget the expression in their leader's eyes, the man he had presumed to be a friend, nearly a brother. Søren's eyes had been glacial ice as he observed Berwald's struggle to hold off the pack. He didn't call them off until each had been drubbed fairly well by the Swede, and aforementioned Swede was heaving for breath, leaning against a wall for support, face bloodied, body bruised. Thus had he been welcomed into Søren's "family."

Ever since, his life had been a violent blur, one fight after another, all at Søren's orders. He was the leader of what was essentially a mafia, as his father had apparently been before him. The older man had died, leaving his son to take over the "family business," which the Dane had done happily. He had ambition, and an insatiable lust for power and control, not to mention unbelievable cruelty. And Berwald was in deep with him. Søren had done so much for him before he had become a part of his organization that he couldn't back out. The Dane had made sure of that. Berwald's life belonged to Søren, would belong to Søren, until he repaid the man, or died. Whichever came first.

* * *

Tino wandered the streets for hours, unsure what to do now that he'd assured himself of a failing grade and the loss of his scholarship. Everything was dark, and most of the people about were shady at best, but he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts and hardly noticed any of them. Until a car pulled up alongside him at one street corner and someone rolled down the window, asking how much he charged for the night.

The Finnish boy was alarmed at the question, and was about to correct the man in the car when a terrible, terrible idea struck. It was stereotypical and definitely not how he'd ever planned to get through, but nothing of his life had gone according to plan. _Why should this be any different?_ He already knew how to use his body to get what he wanted. Hadn't what he'd done for grades essentially been prostitution? This would just be a continuation of something that had been going on in his life for a very long time. Speculatively, Tino strode to the open window, leaning in to speak to the man in the vehicle.

In the beginning, he had little experience with sex and no experience with prostitution. He was just going off instinct, trying to get a grip as best as he could in as short a time as possible. He watched the other men and women on the streets, learning from them, and gradually found the best way to go about the business. To save time and gain money, he wasn't partial, and would service both men and women if asked, despite having a preference for men that occasionally still surprised him. The first time, he was stressed beyond belief, making the process as painful as the real first time, all those years ago. He had to learn to relax, learn what felt good, learn how to manipulate. In time, with his night job, he managed to make enough money to scrape by in college, despite often being exhausted, and sometimes, hurt or injured.

For some reason, it seemed men who feared their sexual preference for other males always gravitated toward Tino. He learned to recognize them after a time, usually angry, afraid to look directly at him, and often violent with him. He would come out of it bruised, bleeding, or broken in some way. This resulted in his wearing long-sleeved shirts, a lot. He had been choked a number of times, which left very obvious bruising on his neck that took forever to clear up, and was sore for days. Some of the wounds were more lasting, leaving scars, and he was always embarrassed when he couldn't cover up the hickeys, bite marks and bruises effectively.

He went through with this way of life for two years before something happened that convinced him to quit. A man he was servicing, one of the angry, fearful ones, took the usual abuse way too far. It had ended with a call to the police, the man being arrested, Tino being taken to the hospital for his injuries. People took photographs of him, examining the hurt done to his body, seeing everything he had tried so hard to hide and discussing what would happen to the man who had done this to him, but Tino decided he didn't care what happened to the man. He slipped out of the hospital when the police left, limping home through the streets alone.

The whole ordeal made him take a step back and look at the state of his life. He made barely enough to get by through selling his body to people who hurt him. He simply didn't think he could handle it anymore. Finally he understood what people meant about needing to hit rock bottom before you could face yourself and fix the mess. He just felt like he'd kept digging longer than most at this point.

* * *

AE: I will try to keep author's notes to a minimum, but this is my first time, so to speak. Feedback is much appreciated, et cetera, et cetera, and constructive criticism is always needed. Rated M for the obvious, and the fact that it will get more detailed later.


	2. Chapter 2

The world seemed to slow, as though everything and everyone in it was moving through a viscous clear liquid, all etched in excruciating detail around him. Berwald's eyes tracked the fist cutting toward his face with ease, slipping out of reach in an instant. It didn't take much to throw himself forward and crash into his opponent, taking the other man out with a single blow to the abdomen and pinning him to the damp ground. A rough blow collided with his side, the other man's attempt to throw him off. He locked an arm beneath the man's jaw and knelt atop the thrashing arms. One. Two. Three. Four. Five seconds. It didn't take long. They always felt like the longest in his life when he held his struggling rivals to the floor, watching as the fight went out of them at his victory. Then would come the tired sensation of another battle won. Another release of the tension building in him.

Berwald rose to his feet with a grace obtained from years of practice. The dark-haired Spaniard lying on the concrete groaned and attempted to rise, then had to be half-dragged off the ground by an Italian boy who kept shouting curses at him and Berwald. The tall blond Swede just watched with his usual detached, emotionless expression. Insults, curses and threats had long since ceased to affect him.

Striding forward and staring the bruised, bloodied man in the face, Berwald murmured, in a rough, low voice, "Søren says hello. He's waiting for your repayment but his patience is running thin." He pulled his glasses, always miraculously clean and unmarred, from his breast pocket and put them on. "Do you have it?"

The Spaniard - Antonio, if Berwald remembered correctly - coughed and spat out a gob of bloody saliva. His Italian friend, still babbling furiously, fell silent the instant Berwald fixed him with a stare.

"I don't have the money," Antonio wheezed, "I swear on my life!"

"Hm. Hope you're willing to put it all on that." The Swede flexed his shoulders glancing about the alley impatiently. "Best hurry. He won't tolerate this much longer." Another day, another poor sucker who thought running from Berwald was a good idea. He loped from the alley and down the street, sliding into his car and snagging a towel off the seat to wipe off his face and bloody, raw hands. It was time to find Ingemar.

This required driving all the way back across town, to the warehouses by the docks. Søren owned several of the warehouses, using them to run some of his more shady businesses. Arms in one warehouse, drugs and narcotics in another, still another for the housekeeping part of his operations. Berwald pulled the car up behind one of the lit buildings, climbed out and walked to the door. He was one of the few with his own key, letting himself through the door amidst a shouting crowd. He surveyed the throngs of people coolly before making his way through. People naturally made a path, slipping out of Berwald's path like soap bubbles from pencil shavings. They all knew him, well enough to steer clear even if he didn't want something from them. It was fight night obviously, and everyone was cheering for the fighter they'd backed, one of the two in the center ring, painting the floor red.

The Norwegian was standing amidst a group of loud, wild young men, but they quickly slunk off after catching an eyeful of the Swede. That was the effect Berwald had on people. He was tall, muscular, with this perpetual glaring scowl always embossed across his face. Despite the fact that he was indeed wildly attractive, his general aura of danger and intimidation was enough to ward people away. Mostly because he _was_ dangerous. The fighting he was involved in now was nothing beside what he used to do. What he still did…

Ingemar glanced up, and stiffened in surprise when he noticed the Swede standing at his side, still and silent. He was fairly well-groomed, but there was a clear smudge of blood on his neck that clearly wasn't his. The shorter blond straightened his jacket as well as his composure before speaking.

"Løve. He wants to see you. The sooner the better. Now, if you don't have anything to do." He paused. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened to your face?"

The taller blond touched his fingertips to his cheekbone, feeling the start of a bruise. "Mmh. He say what he wants?" Berwald inquired in a smoky rumble.

"Ah, no. He said it was a matter he wished to discuss with you in private…" explained the Norwegian.

Berwald tensed. With his boss, private matters were never a good thing. It usually meant someone, somewhere, was in for a world of hurt. And Berwald was expected to put them there. It was part of his job, part of his repayment, part of his life. None of these things meant he had to like it, however. He simply had no real choice. He'd never had any real choice. He took care of matters quietly and efficiently. It was part of why Søren liked him so much and what had allowed him to raise to his current position. Just seeing the Swede on their doorsteps convinced most people to give up, give in, give Berwald whatever they owed Søren. All the same, Berwald had never wanted this, didn't enjoy seeing people beg for his mercy and plead for their lives at his feet. He didn't enjoy causing pain; those feelings had long ago fizzled out with his once-terrible rage. It was just orders, instructions he had to follow, lest he be the one destroyed. He knew he was a coward. And with each job he did for Søren, he hated himself for it a little more.

Slipping to the rear of the building, Berwald glided up the back staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Søren was working awfully late tonight. This had been a pattern of late, and it hadn't escaped the Swede. He liked knowing when things might begin a downward slide for him. He stepped in the door to the office and shut it quietly.

"Søren."

"Løve."

"You needed to see me?"

"Yeah, actually. It seems we've encountered a small problem." Søren got straight to the point. "His name is Dimitri Trolskov… He happens to have gotten in my way a few times too many. I want you to find him. Find out what he's doing and why he's causing me so many problems. I believe he's someone's lackey, but I can't seem to figure out who… All I know is a name and a face." Søren turned and tossed a photograph down on his desk. It was an image of a man, dark-haired and dark-eyed, ruggedly handsome with a smirk and a very distinctive crescent-shaped scar slicing across his temple and onto his cheekbone. He tapped the photo with a finger. "You find him, get me what I wanna know. Feel free to use any method as you see fit. I'd like this done as soon as possible." He smiled coldly.

"Fine. Consider it done." Berwald's ocean-hued eyes met his boss's mountain-blues.

It took the Swede two weeks to find the man. He was Russian, and he had used his full arsenal of curses in aforementioned language on Berwald before being successfully "persuaded" to give up the desired information. Two weeks after he had received the initial order, Berwald was back in front of Søren, a little worse for wear, sporting black gloves to cover bruised and scraped knuckles, relaying back the Russian's confessions, with visual aids.

"His boss's name's Ivan Braginski." He handed over a printed photo of his own, this one of a man with a childish face, silvery blond hair and violet eyes. There was something vaguely sinister about the way he stared into the camera lens, his smile that would seem cute anywhere else just coming across as disturbing. "Russian. Involved in drug trade, human trafficking, car theft operation, arms. Quite the sheet too, starting when he was thirteen, in the motherland. Came not long ago looking to set up his own power base here and since decided to kick you out."

Søren's blue eyes narrowed to shards of glacial ice. "Is that so. Well. We'll see how that prospect pans out for him, won't we."

"Hm," Berwald growled in agreement.

"Tell the boys to be on the lookout for him and any suspicious-looking Russian characters. I want this guy tracked down, wanna know what he's doing. Understood?"

"Perfectly."

Søren paused. "You got a little blood on the side of your neck. Just right... right there." He pointed. Berwald reached up and rubbed, then drew his hand back to see a red stain on his fingertips. "Contact me when you find out anything new," Søren ordered.

Berwald nodded and stood, exiting in a rush. The first thing he did was go to the bathroom beside the office. He stared at the reflection in the mirror. Cold aquamarine eyes stared back at him. The blood just added unpleasantly to the general effect. He scrubbed the remainder of the blood from the side of his neck vigorously.

* * *

Tino trotted down the street, sodden and miserable and utterly lost. Everything had been fine, the sun had been shining, his day couldn't have gotten any better. Apparently, Fate had decided this too, and then the downpour had started, he found himself on unfamiliar and dark streets, and he was fairly sure his camera bag wasn't going to take the rain much longer. Wiping dripping ash-blond hair from his eyes, he attempted to locate his position. The nearest street signs were scratched and damaged, nearly beyond recognition. The Finn shivered in the rain, hopping up and down. Squinting through the precipitation, he finally just made a run along the building beside him. He scampered around corners, through alleys, dodging like a hare across roads, looking for something, anything familiar. He thought he'd seen that particular apartment before... or one very similar to it…

Tino cursed aloud, shouting to the crying clouds, to the Powers That Be who'd landed him here in the first place. Still venting his misery to the uncaring sky, he rounded a corner and slammed into something solid. His hands had come up on instinct to break a fall, and now rested in the center of a broad, muscular chest. His eyes traced up the chest to a pair of brilliant, icy aquamarine eyes framed by glasses. They glared down at him, the expression not unlike that of an eagle, all ferocity and power. The face around them was just as fierce, but incredibly handsome, bringing to Tino's mind the image of another powerful predator, a lion. Tino breathed out a silent "Oh", remaining perfectly still in the sharp gaze.

The thud of someone crashing into his chest brought Berwald's mind from its distant airiness, making the watery gray world around him come back into focus sharply. His hands came out automatically to catch the figure clinging to his front, finding a pair of slim shoulders. Berwald stared down into the face of the person leaning against him, noting soaked blond hair, pale damp skin, and a pair of large eyes, violet in hue, set into a face that was definitely male, but beautiful, feminine. The boy stood frozen before him, save for shivers that occasionally wracked his frame. He mouthed something indecipherable at Berwald. They stared. Neither moved. Finally the smaller of the two attempted to back away, hands dropping from the tall Swede's chest, but Berwald's hands remained in place on his shoulders. He froze again, a rabbit in the eyes of a hawk.

"I-I'm sorry. I wasn't p-paying attention…" the boy apologized, looking up into Berwald's face through the rain with a hangdog expression. It was really rather adorable, enough to tug at some forgotten part of Berwald's heart. "Um… I-I'm sorry." The boy backed up swiftly, tripped, and would have fallen into the street if Berwald hadn't caught him. He dodged around the taller blond and hurried away down the sidewalk, eyes darting furtively over his shoulder at the frightening man.

Berwald watched after the retreating figure before it vanished across the street and behind a building. He'd never seen anyone who looked quite like that before, especially not a male. The boy had been, for lack of a better description, beautiful. There was no other word. And of course, he had been terrified of the Lion. No one ever wasn't, or if not terrified, they were at least ill at ease around him. Poor kid had probably gotten the shock of his life when he saw what he'd run into.

Tino, in retrospect, had realized he could have asked for directions from the man, and was now kicking himself. It didn't matter what he looked like, the man had probably at least known his way around. Now he was lost and alone again. No one he saw on the streets looked like the sort of person one could just ask for directions. In fact, some of them he'd seen in alleys were far too busy making business deals to even pay him attention. He was sick of places like this. He began pacing down the street again, readying himself to weave systematically up and down until he found somewhere familiar.

It wasn't long before he heard footsteps, echoing off the surrounding brick walls. As he turned down another street, he got a glance at someone in the shadows. Following him.

"Fuck," he breathed, picking up his pace while he was out of sight around a corner. He had begun to relax, until he saw the figure gliding across the street after him. Throwing away his careful system, he sprinted down the nearest alley, wove randomly down several avenues, and became totally lost once more. Repeatedly, he glanced back to be sure no one was behind him, resigning himself to wandering around the city all night. He groaned in frustration, loping along the sidewalk, then coming to a stiff, awkward halt. Walking briskly across the road down the block was the tall scary guy from earlier. The misty drizzle blurred his image, but it was definitely him.

Tino, figuring that if the man hadn't brutally killed him when they ran into each other, then he had no intention to, chased after. With the speed the man was moving at and how far Tino was behind, he was winded by the time he caught up. The man stopped, going still as he approached, and turned warily to face him, his expression enough to stop the Finn cold. Then his eyes widened in surprise.

"You okay?" he asked Tino.

Tino was reconsidering the wisdom of his actions, which he decided he was doing far too often of late. "Uhm..."

"Need something?" Berwald swept his gaze over the boy, reading desperation. There was no response, and the shorter blond just stared everywhere but at Berwald's face. When they continued to stand there in silence, the Swede turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Berwald flicked his gaze back. Tino hesitated. "Look... I... I really don't know where I am…"

"Lost?" Berwald questioned, his voice surprising him with its softness.

"Yes…" The slim blond gazed about the street. "And freaking out a little at this point, and I have nowhere to go…" He looked as though he were about to cry or hit something. On Tino's part, he had no idea why he was asking this very tall, intimidating person for help. All he knew was that he had been searching for his way for far too long, and the sky, already dark from the storm, was darkening further with nightfall. The only thing that scared him more than the man before him was the thought of being out on the streets, alone, in the dark. The man was fairly well-dressed in dark-wash jeans and a black dress shirt and long, tailored deep blue coat, indicating that he was probably well-off enough not to murder Tino for his camera to pawn it for cash, but still… he was scary as all hell. Did his facial expression ever change?

"You need a place to stay?" the young man asked him, with a slight change in the furrow of his brow. Tino somehow got the idea that this was more of a worried expression than the previous, despite the fact that it was nearly completely unnoticeable. He also noted that the man was remarkably difficult to understand. His low mumbling speech came out sounding like a low rumbling growl. It took Tino a few seconds to decipher it. "Not exactly safe here at night."

"Ah…" Tino hesitated, still unsure about the man. Then he flicked his gaze back to his face, caught the eagle eyes with his own. They were frightening as all get out, it was true, but beneath the ice and steel, there was something warm, something caring and concerned. "Well, I do need somewhere to stay…" he finally replied, dropping his eyes again.

"Would you be willing to stay with me? For the night, at least. Wouldn't feel safe leaving you out here."

"W-well... I don't know. I don't want to get in your way, o-or–"

"Wouldn't be." The boy opened his mouth to argue, but Berwald cut him off. "Promise."

Tino bit his lip, weighing options

"Okay. Sure?" the Finn allowed, smiling faintly up.

"Name's Berwald, by the way," Berwald introduced himself. "Berwald Oxenstierna."

"Tino Väinämöinen. Nice to meet you, Berwald." Tino's smile widened. "And thank you."

"No big deal," Berwald muttered. "I'd want someone to do the same for me." The Swede turned and began back the way he'd come from, and Tino hurried to his side, each of Berwald's strides equal to about three of his own.

They wandered down streets with no apparent direction in mind, until the darker streets were behind them and the scenery improved. More cars were about, more people huddled beneath umbrellas, rushing down the sidewalks. They came to a neat, modern building, and Berwald glided up the steps and opened the door, holding it for the Finn, who stepped inside gratefully. Berwald shook his head, sending excess water flying around a tasteful lobby, then entered the nearest elevator, Tino following suit. Berwald pressed the button for fifteen, the second to highest floor. The pair rode up in silence, Tino shifting his bag anxiously and Berwald nodding to the beat of some song in his head. The doors opened onto a short hall with only one door at the end, which the Swede unlocked and pushed open for Tino. The shorter blond's jaw hit the floor.

The apartment was simple, sleek, and sophisticated, the entire color scheme bringing oceans and rivers to Tino's mind. There were varying shades of gray and blue everywhere, mostly pale, and the furniture was all dark wood, solid and strong, just like the man beside him. He fit perfectly in these surroundings. Keys dropped into a dish on the table beside the door and Berwald strode in, flicking on lights as he went. Tino followed, eyes roving. One entire wall of the Swede's living room was dedicated to a built-in bookshelf, a ladder to match the dark wood leaning against the wall beside it. There was a fireplace, flatscreen, massive stereo system, all the fittings. One slim hand ran along the ocean blue fabric of the sofa.

"What exactly do you do for a living?" Tino asked, curious, the question slipping out thoughtlessly.

Berwald hesitated, going perfectly still. He shrugged his broad shoulders, shifting his eyes down from Tino's face. "I… work for a friend of mine…" he replied cautiously, words a little less clear than the usual mumble.

The Finn gazed at him blankly as he sorted out the words then waited for elaboration, but when he got none, he continued investigating the apartment. A staircase led up to the next floor. His fingertips traced down the railing as he peered up to the floor above. Setting himself on a step, he turned and unzipped his bag, groaning when he tipped it and water leaked from it. He drew the camera out, examining it closely.

"You a photographer?" Berwald asked. Tino nodded absently.

"Freelance. I just do whatever comes my way. It wasn't the way I originally planned to do things, but…" he trailed off, lost in thought.

"I know how you feel," murmured the Swede.

Tino attempted using his shirt to clear away some of the water on his camera, dropping it when he realized the saturated fabric was getting him nowhere. "This is not good..."

A towel fell to the floor beside him and he snapped his head back to stare up at Berwald, who looked much more frightening when seen from the floor. The boy went red and jerked his gaze back to the camera, murmuring a thanks as he toweled it off. He tried turning the device on, shoulders drooping when the digital screen remained dark. "Perkele..."

"It okay?"

"I don't think so..."

"Can you fix it?"

Tino sighed. "Probably not. Which means I'm basically screwed."

"Want to get cleaned up a bit?"

"Hm? Ugh, sure." Stretching to his feet, Tino put the camera in its place and, dragging his bag behind him, he padded after Berwald, through a stunning kitchen and down a hall. Berwald brought him to a door at the end, pushing it lightly open.

"Yours," he said simply. "Need anything, just tell me." He turned and strode back down the hall like a jungle cat, lithe and silent. Tino watched his retreat, then slipped inside the room, shutting the door.

It was as sleek and luxurious as the living room, maintaining the simplicity he'd seen throughout the home. The bed was covered in a thick black comforter that he longed to sink into, but his clothes hung heavy and sodden on his frame, his shirt clinging to his torso and his jeans riding low on his slim hips. He pushed into the bathroom and began stripping away the damp garments. Not glancing at himself in a mirror once, he started the hot water, and then climbed into the shower.

The water relaxed his tense muscles, but he was still oddly alert, unwilling to let his guard totally down in a stranger's home, even if Berwald did seem trustworthy. It was only after he exited the shower and was drying off with a fluffy white towel that he realized his only clothes lay in a soaking heap on the tile floor. He stared at them accusingly, like a puppy might stare at a swinging door that got the better of him, before wrapping himself tightly and completely in the towel and creeping to the door. He cracked it open, catching a whiff of food smell, and called for Berwald. The taller blond came at the beckoning, stopping just before the door, watching Tino with a stern expression. The boy shivered a bit under the eagle gaze, unable to meet it, but swiftly explained his predicament.

After listening with his brow furrowed, the Swede nudged his way into the room, and leaving a startled Finn behind him, walked through the bathroom to the closet. Tino peered around the doorjamb after him and jumped when he was handed a button-up shirt and a pair of blue pajama pants. _Guy sure does like his blue… _Berwald had also changed, into a t-shirt with a band logo on it and black sweats. The t-shirt clung to his muscular physique in a particularly eye-catching way, Tino couldn't help but notice.

"Thanks," Tino muttered, fidgeting absently with the shirt.

"Pleasure," replied Berwald. He paused, then added, "Dinner's almost ready. See you when you're dressed," and exited in the same manner as he'd come. Trotting after, Tino watched him from the door, same as last time, until he disappeared around the corner. Hurriedly, he dried off, then slipped into the pants and buttoned on the shirt. His slim frame was swallowed by the larger man's clothing, but it was warm, comfortable and dry. And as long as it was those things, he could care less about the size. Unless the pants kept sliding down his hips like that… That might be a problem…

He padded barefoot toward the savory smells coming from the kitchen, brushing hair out of his eyes, smoothing down the thick, overlong bangs. Rounding the corner, he halted awkwardly. Berwald stood at a high cabinet, stretching upward to reach something on the top shelf, and when he reached, his shirt slid up to reveal the taut musculature of his lower back. The skin there was marred with faintly raised, pale scars, trailing up beneath the hem of the shirt. They glowed against the toned, smooth skin like inlays of pearl. There was something about them that was both frightening and beautiful, and Tino couldn't drag his eyes from the disfigurements.

A single shift of the Finn's foot brought Berwald's head snapping around, eyes alert and sharp. When he saw the Finn standing in the hallway, he relaxed visibly and tugged something off the shelf, settling back. He set a small spice jar on the counter, then turned to Tino.

"Ready to eat?" he asked. The smaller blond nodded with a small smile. "C'mon then. Just need to add one more thing." He poured out some of the jar's contents in his palm, eyeballing the amount, and tossed it into a pot on the stove, proceeding to stir it in. Once satisfied with its distribution into the pot, he took a taste, savoring. The expression on his face was one of utter calm for a moment, then he nodded to himself and began placing the food into two bowls on the countertop. He picked up the bowls and faced Tino. "You gonna come in?"

They ate at the kitchen island, positioned at right angles to one another, in relative silence for most of the meal. Berwald was not a talkative person, but this wasn't an issue for Tino, who had a tendency to be quite verbose. The silence was easy and companionable, and he felt no need to fill it with chatter. It made him feel peaceful, not having to banish the silence to dispel awkwardness or his own feelings of inadequacy. It simply was, and he could have meditated there with the intimidating Swede for hours on end, if the chair were comfortable enough and the world allowing of such concessions. As much as he felt he deserved a break, fate usually had other plans for him.

"So how old are you exactly?" Berwald asked, eyes flicking swiftly to the Finn's face.

"Twenty. Nearly twenty-one. I know, I look a lot younger, I get that a lot."

"Mmh."

"What about you?" Tino reciprocated.

Berwald paused. "Twenty-one."

Tino's brows shot up. "Really? I'd figure you for at _least_ twenty-six. You look very mature. Serious. And I'm sure you get that all the time, too…" he sighed.

"Actually, no," murmured the taller. "Don't get much of anything…"

"How do you mean?"

Berwald's broad shoulders rose and fell in a self-conscious shrug. "People don't like me."

And really, Tino thought, that was understandable. The man was terrifying. The instant the thought popped into his head though, he felt guilty. This was the guy who'd taken him in off the streets, given him dry clothes, a place to stay, and food, and appeared to be very lonely, however well-off he seemed to be living.

"Shouldn't you be in school or something?" queried the elder.

"Ah. I…was in school. I graduated high school when I was fourteen… But I didn't have the money to finish college. So I…got a camera instead. Sounds odd, not what I planned to do, but I do love photography. It's a bit freer than what I originally planned on doing with my life."

"Which was?"

"I wanted to be a psychiatrist. Lots of work, lots of schooling, lots of money… But I guess to be a good psychiatrist, you need to resolve your own issues first…" he added in a voice so quiet, Berwald almost didn't catch the words. Almost.

"Hm." Berwald picked through his food, deciding not to push the issues comment. He didn't know the younger boy well enough to ask about such things. Best to leave it be, he figured. If he wants to explain, he will.

"What about you?" questioned the smaller blond.

Berwald just shrugged as if to say, _What about me?_

"I don't think you ever did explain what it was that you do?" Tino ventured. "You mentioned working with someone…a friend, I believe?"

"Something like that…" A deeper scowl settled over Berwald's features, giving him the appearance of an eagle again. Tino sunk a little further into his chair at the expression. "Known him since I was sixteen, at least."

"But you're not friends." It was a statement. Spending the better part of four years in college to become a psychiatrist gave Tino excellent people-reading skills. Berwald didn't like his "friend," that much was certain.

"Mmn," was the only response Berwald gave before turning back to his bowl. Tino took that as a signal to end the conversation and returned to his own dinner.

The rest of the meal was relatively silent, with only the occasional comment made or question asked, usually on Tino's part, all of them something neutral, easy, regarding hobbies or the city and such. Tino discovered that Berwald was actually quite gifted with his hands, an able carpenter and artist.

"My father taught me about woodworking. All the wooden furniture here, I built myself."

As for what Berwald discovered about Tino, the young man was born in Finland, had grown up speaking Finnish and had learned Swedish when he moved in with his aunt, who'd resided in Göteborg. After moving there, he'd graduated, started college, dropped out for some reason he didn't explain, gotten very involved with some people in the local art scene and discovered his love for photography.

"I honestly wasn't very good at anything else," the Finn shrugged. "No artistic or musical talent whatsoever, didn't finish school... So one of the guys I met, who was in the same boat, let me use his camera once, and I discovered a natural talent. I'd never been good at anything but academics before. Never sports, dear God. So I reached where I am now. Freelancing. Aside from the fact that I usually have very little or no money, it's great."

When Tino was practically falling asleep at the table, yawning fit to dislocate his jaw, Berwald suggested that they should get to bed, seeing as how it was late and Tino had had a very long day. The smaller man just nodded and stood, swaying on his feet. Berwald picked both bowls off the table and nudged Tino along with him, to the kitchen and toward the hall. The Finn padded off down the hall with a distorted "G'night" and disappeared into the bedroom, door sliding shut behind him. He clambered beneath the soft black comforter and cool sheets, curled into a ball, and swiftly fell asleep, mouth falling open.

With a sigh, Berwald ran a hand back through his mussed blond hair. He straightened the kitchen and washed dishes, as was his usual routine, only this time, there was twice as many dishes to do. Two plates instead of one. It was a peculiar feeling. He rather liked the slim, attractive, secretive boy from Finland. The brightness of his personality in general was enough to make up for the darkness Berwald had witnessed in his eyes the closer conversation edged in the direction of his past. The boy had spoken as though he hadn't existed before arriving in Sweden. As good as Tino was at reading people, he hadn't realized how good Berwald was when he put his mind to it.

Slipping a book from his shelves, Berwald turned on a table lamp and settled on the sofa. Since he had given his bed to his new acquaintance and he had no spare bedrooms prepared (it wasn't as if there was anyone who visited), he would sleep in the living room. After the first few pages, the Swede's blue-green eyes began sliding out of focus, vision blurring even with his glasses in place, and he passed out, book laid open on his chest, face smoothing into an expression of peace.

* * *

AE: I apologize for the lateness. This was supposed to be out, oh, three weeks ago and things just got out of hand... I'll try to be a little more timely with the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Tino woke up at some obscure hour of the morning, the world still pitch dark. He blinked about, then turned to see the blue numbers glowing on the nightstand beside him. 2:43 a.m. The inside of his mouth tasted like he'd eaten something rotten, and was coated with a substance that had roughly the same consistency as tacky glue. With a groan, he clambered out of bed and crept from the room in search of water. Padding through the kitchen, he started browsing through cabinets, trying to find glasses. He finally discovered the proper one, then filled the glass at the sink, taking a few grateful sips. Glancing toward the living room, he saw a faint golden glow, and he followed it out of curiosity.

Berwald lay asleep on the couch. His face held a look of utmost calm, making him look young, perhaps younger than his proposed age of twenty-one. Long flaxen lashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones and fluttered lightly in his sleep. The man had forgotten to remove his glasses as well… Tino paused, thoughtful, then set his glass down for a moment to cautiously remove the glasses from the Swede's face with a shy smile. He folded them, set them on the table, and then took the book lying spread-eagle on Berwald's chest and placed it beside them. He tugged a thick blanket lying across the back of the sofa down and laid it over the Swede, then took his glass and padded back to the kitchen for a refill. A feeling of guilt settled bashfully in his mind over taking the other man's bed.

Staring absently out the window over the glowing lights of the city, Tino went completely unaware of Berwald's silent approach until the taller blond was nearly right beside him.

"Gah!" He jerked violently back against the counter, slamming the corner right into his spine. "Ow… I thought you were asleep, did I wake you?" he asked, voice light and airy.

"Nn." Berwald leaned against the counter beside Tino, folding his arms across his chest. "So what're you doing up?"

"Got thirsty. You?"

"Dream…" The taller stretched with a yawn, and Tino imagined him with a mane, long claws and teeth and a tasseled tail. It was a frightening, yet humorous image. He giggled to himself and Berwald looked up curiously. Or he assumed curiously. It was hard to tell from the facial expression.

"Nothing," he muttered, fidgeting his hands together. He glanced back up at Berwald through his lashes and added whiskers, a pink nose, and small rounded golden ears. It did wonders to soften the Swede's appearance. Tino giggled once more before turning back to the window, feeling a little stupid for having to make Berwald look like a kitty to look him straight in the face.

"Beautiful night," sighed the Finn. "Or morning. Whichever."

"Mmm." Berwald's face was surprisingly tranquil, not quite as relaxed as in his sleep, but close. His half-lidded eyes focused distantly out the rain-studded window. The mixed glow from the city cast shadows and colors across his face like the patterns of stained glass. It would have made a beautiful photograph, the play of light and shadow across the rugged yet fine, graceful features. Those eyes… They slipped further shut as they stood side by side, staring out onto the city's night life. Occasionally a light shone on them in such a way that they seemed to illuminate with an aquamarine glimmer.

"You look tired." Tearing his eyes from Berwald's face, Tino straightened and tossed back the rest of his water. "You should try to go back to sleep. We both should." His mouth opened reflexively in a yawn, emphasizing his point.

"Yeah." Shifting off the counter, Berwald stretched once more. Turning ocean eyes on the Finn, he muttered, "G'night."

"Goodnight, Berwald. And thanks."

The Swede nodded, glancing away almost shyly, and returned to his place on the sofa. Tino watched him go, feeling bad for the bed-commandeering once again, before slinking back down the hall. He settled himself cozily in Berwald's bed, among Berwald's sheets, the taller man's wild, musky, forest-and-sea scent filling his head.

Sprawled out on the sofa, Berwald jerked awake. Grey light streamed in the windows, the apartment was quiet save for the clock ticking and refrigerator humming, and coffee smell drifted through the room. With a groan, Berwald got to his feet. He tugged his phone out of his pocket, checking for messages. Only three, all from Søren. Pulling a face, he loped into the kitchen after the coffee smell.

The coffeemaker was through running, now simply keeping the liquid warm. Berwald retrieved a cup, but before he could pour it, he caught sight of a note beside the machine. He tugged it from beneath the padded foot of a trivet. It was written in black ink, in a slanting, neat hand.

_Thanks for everything. _

_Tino_

Berwald stared at the note, letting his eyes retrace the words over and over. He couldn't say he was surprised. People often ran away from him. This was just one more added to an ever-growing list. He folded the note and set it back on the counter before proceeding with his usual routine, pouring coffee into his mug. Almost reluctantly, he padded down the hall to his room, though he knew no one would be there. The bed was made just as it had been the day before, neat and smooth, with his clothes that had been borrowed folded on the end. It was almost as though the boy had never existed.

Fine. He would act as if the slim blond Finn had never entered his life. Just as he was used to people leaving, he was used to leaving people behind. Once again, it would be no different.

His phone buzzed, dancing across the countertop, and he picked it up, checking the message. _Riche. 12:30. Meet me._ From none other than Søren, of course. Opening a new message, Berwald replied, _I'll be there._ He snapped the phone shut with a sigh. At least if they were meeting in a public place for lunch, they couldn't be discussing anything too unsavory. Honestly, there was no desire in his heart to even go to lunch with the Dane, but he did what he had to. It was part of why Søren liked him, after all. Surprisingly easy to control.

By the time he had showered, dressed, and groomed himself, he still had an hour and a half. Ample time to drop by the gallery and visit Matthew. When he stepped out of his building, breathing in the cool, rain-washed air, he turned and began loping down the sidewalk. Walking was his preferred transportation method. If he could reach a place in a reasonable amount of time on foot, he would walk rather than taking his own car or public transportation. Fifteen minutes to the gallery, and from there, he might need a cab for the trip to Riche.

As always, the Canadian was cheery in his quiet way, welcoming Berwald with a grin. The gallery's simple walls calmed Berwald and made Matthew, who usually blended into the background despite his charmingly adorable looks and his crimson hoodie, stand out. "Hey, Berwald. How's life?"

"Mmh. Usual."

"That great, huh? Well look, could you do me a favor and help me set some stuff up? I'm begging you."

"Sure. Anything to help out. Can only stay for an hour or so though."

"Great, that's fine, because otherwise, I'm screwed. I mean I know the show's not for several weeks, but we just got a bunch of new fixtures and displays I have to put up, and you practically need an engineering degree to understand any of the instructions... I'm hopeless." Matthew shrugged and slipped through a door in the back of the gallery, then came out dragging a box behind. Slicing through the tape with his keys, he tore the box open and started pulling out some sort of metal framework. Berwald's eyebrows actually rose minutely. "I know, right? But I'm hoping together, maybe we can figure these things out. You game?"

"I'll try my best… No guarantees." He tugged out one narrow piece of riveted metal. "What the hell's this supposed to be, anyway?"

Mattie covered his face with both hands. "Quite honestly, I've yet to figure that out. I'm just sort of hoping the use becomes clear as we put it together? I'm not the one who ordered these. Kiku was the one who thought they were a good idea. And of course then he leaves to visit his family in Japan, and I'm stuck working my way through assembly hell." The young man sighed, then peeked at Berwald through his fingers. "If you hadn't showed up, I may have done something drastic."

"Well, let's get through as much of this as possible before I have to go. I don't feel safe leaving you here by yourself when you're in such a state." The corner of Berwald's mouth twitched into something of a smile as he contemplated the work ahead. He was good with his hands and could figure these sorts of things out without once glancing at an instruction manual. After examining the riveted spindle of metal again, he glanced across the array of other parts. "Hand me that piece over there," he instructed Matthew, who complied immediately. He fit the two together, locking the second piece in place with a screw. When he tugged on the two parts, they held. "Perfect."

At the end of an hour, Berwald had completed the assembly of three… whatever-they-weres, much to Matthew's relief and joy. The dividers, for that was what they appeared to be, stood taller than Berwald and had the same white surface as the gallery walls. The pair rearranged two parallel to one another, placing the third perpendicular to those and across the room.

"You." Matthew turned sparkling blue-violet eyes on him. "You are my savior. I will probably never be able to repay you for this," he said, glancing around at the gallery.

"No need to thank me." From anyone else the words might've sounded plumy and conceited. From Berwald, they sounded sincere. "You do enough just putting out some of my work."

"Not really…" Matthew scratched the back of his neck absently. "You ever need a side job or something, just ask. Ye shall receive."

"Yeah. Be seeing you."

"Yeah. Thanks again."

Berwald nodded and slid out the door onto the damp gray street. It had rained again while they were working. He found himself wondering vaguely where the Finnish boy could be, if he was stuck out in the rain again, but the thoughts slipped his mind with a single glance at his watch.

"Shit."

He was going to be late. He was late, by the time he arrived at Riche it was 12:38. Søren wasn't one used to being kept waiting. He expected everyone else to wait on him. Usually precise and punctual, this had never been an issue for Berwald. The number of times he'd been late to meetings with Søren could be counted on one hand. And this included all five years of his experience with the man. He entered the restaurant with apprehension lying like an overweight cat in his heart and a scowl that startled the hostess at the door. Berwald growled out Søren's name and she pointed in the direction of the proper table, too unnerved to do much else.

Søren was visibly irritated as he sat at his table, awaiting Berwald's arrival. The Swede made his way toward the table like a mule being dragged on a lead, grudging and shy of approaching something potentially harmful to itself. Berwald sank into his chair just as Søren closed his pocket watch with a brisk click.

"Did you have better things to do today?" he drawled at Berwald, eyes disdainful and insolent like a child's.

"Lost track of time. Sorry."

"Apologies are –"

"A sign of weakness. I know."

"Just making sure. And it won't happen again." Søren took a swig from his beer. A waiter sauntered over and asked Berwald's drink order, Søren staring him down. Berwald ordered, having to repeat his order twice before the waiter understood him, and the boy slunk off, wary of the two tall, intimidating men. "So. As I had originally intended to discuss, we have a problem."

"Is that so."

"Yes. It is so. That Russian bastard Braginski is getting on my nerves. Just last week he –" Søren stopped speaking, staring again as the young waiter from a moment ago came creeping back, deposited Berwald's drink on the table, and scampered away. "He ripped off one of my more profitable business deals. Scared the man half out of his wits. Now I have to go about finding a new arms supplier. Course, I guess it could help if you had a little sit-down with the cowardly son of a bitch. Straighten him out. But that does nothing to solve the root of my problem. Braginski and his people are getting in my way more and more of late. It's unacceptable. Embarrassing. And I'll need something done about it soon, if things don't straighten out. But this guy's nuts. He won't scare easy. It'll have to be quick and dirty. All I need is Braginski out of my way, one way or another."

"And you want me to take care of him."

"Yes. Well, you're the one I'd prefer. You can handle things. You got experience and smarts, and you're more trustworthy than the better part of my guys. You're my right hand. Right?" Søren grinned cockily, fixing his bright blue eyes on Berwald's.

"Right."

"Now we just gotta watch the guy. I already have a connection in his crew. Shouldn't be hard to figure out a few weaknesses to exploit. He pushes too far, I'll give him a warning. After that, all bets are off." the Dane took another swig of beer. "Glad to have you on my side, Lejon." He raised his bottle. "Take all you can."

"Give nothing back," Berwald growled. He raised his own bottle. The glass chinked cheerfully as it crashed into its twin in the Dane's hand, and Berwald tipped it back, downing every drop of dark amber it contained.

* * *

Berwald trudged toward his building. The day had been brutal, with Søren nearly losing his mind on Erik, Ingemar's half-brother, when the boy made a blatantly insulting comment about his leadership abilities and their relation to the Dane's genitalia. Normally, the older man let such remarks from Erik roll off his back, but in the current situation, stressed and angry as he was, Berwald had needed to intercede and nearly got himself killed by a piece of ancient weaponry Søren kept hanging in his office, an axe with a blade the size of a dinner plate. He'd almost lost some very valuable body parts for his efforts to save the mouthy Icelander from their boss's rage. Relieved to be just an elevator ride from a place to collapse, he padded into the lobby, only to find the elevator out of order.

"Ugh." Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he turned to the stairs and began his ascent. Fifteen floors held a lot of stairs. It took him five times as long to reach his floor, and as he stumbled out into his hall at long last, he froze. Sitting against the wall beside his door, knees pulled up to his chest, was Tino. Smooth blond bangs obscured his eyes, and he sang quietly to himself in Finnish. Berwald's messenger bag slumped to the floor, causing the boy to look up. He smiled sheepishly when he saw the Swede.

"Hi."

Berwald's blank, stunned mind finally kicked back into gear. "You're back." He had assumed after three days, the Finn had to be gone for good, that he would never see him again. Yet here he was, sitting on Berwald's doorstep. _Miracles never cease_, thought the blond. Tino fidgeted.

"Yeah. Um… Look, I'm sorry I left like that. I was afraid of getting in your way or something, so… I'm looking for a place to stay, permanently, but I don't have the money, and my camera's pretty fried, so I'm trying to get a job, but for now, I need somewhere to stay, and I had sort of hoped you _might_ just be willing to help me out. I promise, it'll just be a temporary situation, I'll stay out of your way, I'll even pay rent – once I have the money – and do chores, whatever you want. I'll find some way to repay you, I _promise_." Tino's eyes were eager and brilliant, sparkling tanzanite. "Whatever you want. Will you please let me stay?" After the long and hurried speech, Berwald was still a little too shocked to respond.

"B-but it's fine if you don't want to take me in, I mean, I can find another place. I know I can be a bit of an inconvenience and stuff, and I talk way too much and tend to be more than a little clumsy, and I really don't want to get in your way or anything, so… I should have enough to pay for a hotel room or something. I'll find a way… a way…" his shoulders drooped a little bit, something other than eagerness sparkling in his clear eyes. "But thanks for the other night. I guess I'll see you…" He bent to pick his bag up off the floor.

Berwald, for his part, hadn't seen how he had a choice. It wouldn't sit well on his conscience, for one thing, simply leaving someone out on the cold, dangerous streets. It would be like kicking a particularly adorable puppy out in the gutter, and besides, he'd taken a liking to the Finn in the brief time since they'd met. He hesitated one more moment, Søren crossing his mind for all of a millisecond, before he placed a hand on Tino's shoulder, stopping him.

"You can stay with me. Long as you like."

Tino's face broke out in an angelic grin, his eyes glimmering with excess moisture as he threw himself at Berwald, wrapping his arms around the startled Swede.

"Thankyouthankyou _so_ much! You have no idea what this means to me!"He gave one last squeeze, his zeal and energy, leaving Berwald in a stunned (as opposed to normal for him) silence. The taller blond gave the other a one-armed hug in response and reached around him to unlock the front door.

"Is all you got in that camera bag?"

"Yeah. Well, that and what I'm wearing. I sort of lost the rest…" he trailed off bemusedly, scratching at the back of his neck. "Long story…"

"Then you need some stuff."

Tino blinked, then shook his head vigorously.

"Oh no, I'm fine. Really. If these've worked for me till now, they'll keep working until I find something else. _Myself_. I just met you, I'm not going to bombard you with requests and spend you out of house and home."

"But, you wanna get a job, and you can't go on a job interview wearing those."

The Finn was silent, mulling it over as though trying to find fault with Berwald's reasoning. Apparently, he was unsuccessful, if the sigh of relent was anything to go by. "Fine. But I _will_ repay you for everything you do for me. No matter what it takes. I always do," he murmured wryly. Watching him, Berwald noticed the shadow cross his eyes again, darkening and cooling the molten, shimmering violet. But it was gone a moment later and Tino was back to his vividly energetic self.

Berwald let them into the apartment, Tino beginning to chatter conversationally about his day of remaining unlost and job-hunting. The Finn's warm personality was the kind that filled rooms, and put light where it normally wasn't, like in some forgotten place in the Swedish man's heart. Berwald had a feeling he wouldn't mind if the young man stayed for months. He could get used to not being lonely.

"Okay." Tino let his bag hit the floor. "We really need to do something about sleeping arrangements."

"Hn?" Berwald gave him an odd look.

"You can't just stay on the couch until I find a job and a place of my own. You are… far too large for that thing. You hang off the ends. I, however, am small-statured, or so I've been told, and would be perfectly willing to take the couch while I'm here."

"You're a guest. No."

Tino tried to look unyielding. His brow furrowed and he narrowed his violet eyes, but his face formed into such a sweetly amusing puppy-dog pout, and he was facing up against someone half a head taller, broader, and infinitely more frightening. Berwald almost laughed at the expression on the Finn's face, but stopped himself, not wishing to offend his new… roommate? Instead, he simply sat back on the sofa, watching Tino through hooded eyes.

With a single noise of distress, Tino marched to the other end of the sofa, throwing himself down. "Like talking to a brick wall," he muttered, folding his arms, watching the larger man across from him. Berwald just blinked at him bemusedly, then gave his head a little shake. The Finn shifted anxiously, eyes roving about the room. Having Berwald stare like that… it was unnerving. There was something about them that seemed to strip you down to nothing, looking past the outside, removing the layers of clothing, flesh, bone, laying you bare, raw and open to everything. It felt like that stare exposed the deepest parts of him, and he somehow got the disconcerting idea that the Swede could see his thoughts, and his secrets.

To be fair, though he seemed iced-over and distant, Tino had seen something deep ans soulful reflected at him through those eyes, and it made him a little more comfortable around the man.

Tino's keen violet eyes flickered around the room, and he located the remote, partially hidden beneath a pile of craft and carpentry magazines. He tugged it out and turned on the massive flatscreen mounted above the fireplace across the room. News was on. Too depressing. He pulled a face and began channel-surfing. Several channels flipped by, none holding any sort of interest. A low hum started up in the back of his throat.

"So what do you like to watch?" he asked his companion on the other end of the couch with a grin.

Berwald shrugged. "Anything works for me." Tino turned and looked at the Swedish man. Berwald looked back.

"Okay…" The surfing continued until Tino hit a channel and made a happy sound. "I haven't seen this movie in forever!" He giggled and settled back into the sofa cushions.

Berwald watched the boy curiously for a moment, then the movie. It was nothing he recalled seeing before. He continued to watch before a slight pain in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in several hours, and he rose to head for the kitchen.

"I'm gonna make dinner," he mumbled, padding past Tino. The Finn jumped up, eyes bright and inquisitive.

"What are you going to make?" he asked, stride quickening to match the taller man's. Berwald turned to him, and Tino flinched to a halt, going pale. He took an automatic step back. With a jerk, Berwald looked away from the slim blond, wondering what the hell his face could possibly look like to scare the boy that badly. After attempting to force his expression into something a little less horrifying to the Finn, and having no idea if he was successful, Berwald faced Tino again. Violet eyes stared at the floor, partially curtained by golden bangs.

"Mmm… 'M sorry if I scared you…"The Swede honestly didn't know what to say. No matter how he tried, he ended up frightening people half to death. _It's a skill,_ he thought bitterly to himself. _The one that limits your career choices to hitman, evil dictator or librarian._ _Way to go, Berwald. You've successfully scared the kid shitless._ But cutting off his mental babble, he noticed the amethyst eyes were on him again, seeming significantly less alarmed than a moment ago.

"I-It's no problem… I'm just… jumpy sometimes. Anyway. Need any help?" Tino asked.

Berwald paused. "Sure."

Dinner that night consisted of grilled salmon, vegetables, steamed and seasoned, and a perfect white wine to match. Tino was impressed by the skill his intimidating roommate had in the kitchen. He had been mildly embarrassed, trying to help at first then just trying to keep out of Berwald's way. They ate in the living room, watching the movie Tino had started earlier. The wine left them both feeling warm and relaxed, marginally more at ease with one another. After the meal, the Finn tried to start up a conversation. He was getting a feeling already of how quiet living with Berwald was likely to be.

"Now that I'll be staying here, what shall my roommately duties be?" he inquired of the silent man on the other end of the sofa.

"I don't know…" Berwald's brow furrowed in thought. "Haven't really thought about it. I guess… just make sure you clean up after yourself… help out with chores… stuff like that?"

"Mmm. Okay. I guess I'll do dishes, since you cooked dinner tonight, for starters. I can dust and vacuum, and I'm a pro at doing laundry. Um… other than that, I'll try not to be too much of a burden."

"You're not a burden…" Berwald shifted, flicking his gaze to Tino's. The blond avoided his eyes. He had rarely met Berwald's eyes since last night. Right now, the boy was blushing softly.

"Thank you," he murmured. "But you really don't know _what_ I am."

"You gonna tell me?"

"Probably not. You can try to find out for yourself, if you want. I don't care. Just… Never mind." Tino slouched back into the sofa cushions, toying with his fork.

"What is it?" asked Berwald lowly.

"Nothing. Nothing at all…" He shifted his weight again, anxious. "I would ask what exactly you are, but since I haven't explained, I don't expect a response."

"Mmh." Berwald wasn't going to argue his statement. There was no way he was going to tell someone he just met "I break kneecaps for a living." That would go over like a load of cinder blocks. His own curiosity about the Finn, however, was definitely stirred. Despite this, he wasn't going to try to figure the younger man out. Once again, he had a feeling Tino would eventually put it out there himself, and he trusted in his instincts. Waiting would be best.

The brief monosyllabic sound the Swede made seemed to bring an end to a conversation that had grown peculiarly tense very quickly. Both parties were relieved when the tension relaxed, but they remained silent. Tino excused himself to do the dishes, taking Berwald's plate with him and leaving the man deep in thought, mind revolving around his new roommate. As much as Tino had seemed reluctant to share with Berwald, Berwald was perhaps even more reluctant to be open with Tino. Whatever Tino was worried about, it couldn't be possibly be as terrible as the secrets the Swede was keeping from him, and it definitely wasn't as dangerous.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days after Tino's moving in, Berwald woke in the morning, stretched with a yawn, and froze in surprise. Curled up in the large chair against the wall, shivering with cold, was Tino. Berwald's head tilted to one side in curiosity. The boy shifted, long dark gold lashes fluttering, soft murmuring noises coming from lightly twitching lips. A low, amused and shy chuckle sounded from the taller blond, and he shook his mussed hair, rising to his feet. After feeling about for his glasses on the end table and nearly knocking them across the room with a backhand motion, he restored the clarity of his sight and glanced back at Tino. The boy was waking, blinking about the room, and going red with embarrassment.

"Morning," Berwald greeted the smaller man.

"Ah…" Tino's eyes roamed the floor. "I'm not sure what I'm… God, it's cold…" He wrapped his arms tightly around his slim frame, hugging himself for warmth, before a blanket dropped over him.

"Warm yourself up and get ready for breakfast." The Swede strode out to the kitchen, hiding the faint smile dancing at the edge of his lips.

The leaves in the park began to change and drift all over the streets, and this was a common morning routine. Every two to three days, Berwald would wake up with his roommate asleep not far from him, usually shivering with cold. Even after he cleaned out one of the spare rooms and began sleeping in a bed again, (which he thanked God for; sleeping on the sofa had done cruel things to his back and neck) he found Tino nearby, yammering quietly in his sleep. The slim blond always awoke flustered and embarrassed and Berwald gave him a blanket, sometimes managing to cover him before he woke. The taller man couldn't tell if Tino showed up in his room by conscious decision or if he simply sleepwalked to Berwald's location at night.

Also through the days, life went on as usual, though with a new person added to the mix. The Swede continued working just as he always had, separating life with Søren from life with Tino carefully. He worked late some nights, doing what he did best, scaring or beating the hell out of people on the Dane's orders, running "errands" and the like. By the time he got home, Tino was in bed, giving him the opportunity to clean off and wrap any wounds. He knew Tino noticed some of the injuries, but the boy never mentioned them, so neither did Berwald.

He continued to hunt for any information about Ivan Braginski for Søren, rewarded any time he brought in something or someone useful. Despite having some sort of connected spy, Søren had yet to track Braginski down. He relied on Berwald more and more to get information out of the people they did manage to nail down, and got more and more anxious with each dead end they reached. Ivan was still taking advantage of his position several steps ahead of the Dane, doing his best to ruin the man, which scared and angered Søren. And an angry Søren was not what anyone wanted.

Two of Berwald's paintings and a wood carving had been sold at Matthew's art gallery. He had had to stop back in during his meager free time to help Matthew rearrange the gallery again, deconstructing one of the setups he'd built after Matthew had "unintentionally" bent a section of the framework and put a dent in the smooth white surface.

Tino got a job as a waiter in a restaurant and bar several blocks from the apartment. Berwald, ever the skilled and helpful roomie, had taken it upon himself to adjust some of his clothing to fit the slimmer, shorter frame of the Finn. Using some shirts and pants he'd worn before his chest had broadened completely and when he'd been several centimeters shorter, he'd created a "new" wardrobe for Tino. The boy was perfectly content with the deal, surprisingly so to Berwald.

Unfortunately, their relationship remained unchanged. The Finn feared the larger male, still hardly meeting Berwald's eyes, going tense whenever the Swede touched him, spooking when Berwald came close in his silent way without alerting the other of his presence. It hurt, and Berwald was unsure of how to fix it. He was a naturally shy individual, aloof, and sensitive at heart, despite his frightening exterior and violent past and present. Having someone he now considered a friend so fearful of him was disheartening, to say the least. It was even more so now that he felt he might be developing more than just friendly feelings for the other boy.

Berwald had known he was interested in guys since he was eleven or twelve. Previously, he'd never really found himself interested in girls, and then he'd discovered himself drawn ever more to males. He'd never precisely told anyone, and no one really knew, save a few exes and flings, and none of those had been very long relationships. He'd never wanted to give anyone, and later Søren, the chance to find out about him, despite having the nagging suspicion that Søren and his pet, Ingemar, were more than just associates. Eventually he had decided that relationships weren't worth all the trouble of keeping his two worlds separated, so he'd been single for the better part of three years. Until he met Tino, he'd had no desire to change the situation. Now he'd found someone, the complete antithesis to himself it seemed, and found some sort of feelings that had gone unused for years had dredged themselves up for the Finn.

It was sort of unclear where it had started. Tino was a sweet, close, touchy person, and it came to be that whenever he happened to brush against the Finn, or vice versa, a little fluttery sensation flared up unbidden in his chest. Then he had begun doing it on purpose. He was reasonably certain Tino didn't know what the light touches and the occasional warm glance meant. He intended to keep it that way. Exposing feelings wasn't something Berwald was good at, nor was it something he enjoyed, and if he did let his feelings for Tino be known, the other probably wouldn't reciprocate, and might even condemn them outright. So, suffer in silence. That was Berwald's way.

* * *

One morning, when the sky was still the dark sea blue of predawn, Berwald awoke to find Tino in the throes of a full-on nightmare. He had never had any clue what the boy dreamed of, but he had the feeling it wasn't usually pleasant. The kid had a tendency to twitch a little in his sleep, and make strange noises that varied from murmurings to all-out talking, especially when he was having bad dreams, and right now, he was going into spasms. Sobbing sounds were coming from his throat, mixed with barely decipherable words in Finnish, so Berwald had no idea what he was saying, but it didn't sound good, and suddenly he heard his name. Berwald sprang across the room and picked the struggling boy up, holding him close, trying to wake and soothe him with gentle words and light touches.

Tino dragged himself from his nightmare, letting his drift back to the real world, before opening his eyes and discovering he must still be asleep. Because all he saw was a pair of beautiful, intense green eyes, shot through with striations of electric blue, exactly like those of the golden lion in his dream. He reached up, touching where the lion's thick mane should be, and felt short, silky hair running through his fingers, then touched smooth skin. Not his lion, but the person he'd named the dream lion for.

"Berwald…"

"Are you okay, Fin?" the other asked, tone anxious. He'd picked up the habit of calling Tino "Fin" as a sort of pet name in the past weeks. Tino looked up at the affectionate nickname.

"Yeah… I'm fine." He was lying, and Berwald knew it, but he continued to insist. "Really. It's nothing to worry about. Just a nightmare. Ugh." Tino rubbed wearily at the back of his neck, stretching as though trying to alleviate a crick. In an instant, Berwald had turned him around, and begun working the tension out of Tino's tense neck and shoulder with deft hands. The Finn shuddered at first, but soon began to relax, eyelids fluttering. He sagged against Berwald's chest, violet orbs sliding shut, and he twitched gently as hands continued working down his back and across his slim shoulders. Arms slipped around the boy's waist and his head rested in the curve of Berwald's neck.

Berwald laid his cheek against smooth golden hair, inhaling in preparation to sigh but pausing before letting out the breath. A scent drifted in his nose, familiar because he'd smelled hints of it for weeks but strange because he'd never smelled it this close, in such a concentrated form. It was warm, clean, and had this undercurrent of something unidentifiable that made it irresistible. Berwald had never noticed Tino smelt like this before. That undertone was peculiar but amazing, and Berwald felt that if temptation had a scent, this was it, without a doubt. It was odd, thinking of Tino as smelling of temptation, but that was how he best described it. Tino shifted then, and Berwald realized he was still sniffing lightly at the other boy's hair and how it might seem to Tino, should he wake up and find Berwald doing so. The taller of the pair immediately stopped his sniffing and settled back into Tino's sleeping-chair, eyes falling shut.

* * *

"We're going out tonight."

Tino choked a little on his cereal and looked up bemusedly. "What?"

"Your night off, isn't it?" Berwald asked.

"Well, y-yeah, but - "

"Want to go out with me, then?" Berwald's eyes were warm and sparkling despite the usual coldness of his expression. Tino blushed slightly, whether because of the way Berwald was watching him or because of the other's wording, he was unsure.

"Fine," the Finn replied, shifting his eyes from Berwald's face shyly. "That might be nice."

"Mmm. We can go when I get home tonight. I'll see you later." He stood to leave, and his hand brushed casually along Tino's shoulder. The younger male paused, watching Berwald's retreat, as a little shiver ran down his spine from the contact. Suddenly a question popped into his head that he was surprised he hadn't thought of before. It now seemed sort of obvious. He decided he would find a way to ask Berwald tonight, and just hoped he wouldn't offend the Swede with the asking.

Going through the inner workings of Søren's business was tedious for Berwald, and he was relieved when he finally dragged himself home and found Tino dressed and waiting for him, in a deep violet shirt that made his eyes look dark and intense and black jeans that fit loosely. Berwald couldn't help the way his eyes flashed over Tino's form appreciatively, and just hoped the boy didn't notice.

"Give me a minute?" he asked of Tino, and the Finn nodded with a brief smile, settling on the sofa.

Berwald wandered to the bathroom, looking himself over in the mirror. The sight was pretty tragic. He splashed cold water on his face, ran some through his hair to smooth it down, and realized he should at least change his shirt. The current one was old and worn, with grease and dirt stains on it. He slipped the material off and walked out into the hall, only to hear a sudden intake of breath. Whirling, he saw Tino, standing in the hall, eyes wide with shock before he averted them, face going red.

"I'm-I'm sorry," Tino stuttered out before pacing back down the hallway as if in a daze. Berwald glanced down at himself. Shirtless, all the worst of his scars became visible, each one like an ivory inlay on his skin, standing out against the unmarred background. Some of it looked really bad, and he could understand how disconcerting they might appear to another, which was why he worked so hard to cover it all. With an exasperated sigh, he went into his room, digging out an ocean-blue button-up and putting it on.

Tino sat back on the sofa, staring into space. The scarring...

"Oh my God..." he breathed to himself, wondering what could possibly have inflicted those wounds on the Swede's body. He'd known the man had scars, but he hadn't even begun to guess the extent of them. Across the Swede's lower back, there had been long diagonal lines slashed into the skin, and when Berwald had turned to face him, he had seen another massive wound on his chest, three more on his left side. The chest wound looked like it might have been near-fatal when inflicted, coming across from the end of Berwald's right collar bone to the center of his left pectoral. The sight of the old injuries had shaken him, and he'd totally forgotten what he'd gone down the hall for. _Forget it,_ he thought to himself. _I don't need to ask that._

Berwald finally emerged from the hall, observing Tino with wary, anxious eyes. His expression was so similar to that of an apologetic dog, though he'd done nothing wrong, that Tino laughed. It was rare that Berwald even had a true expression.

"Ready to go?" Tino queried. The taller male just nodded. "You look miserable. Come on. Cheer up a bit."

Berwald was silent, but there was the slightest change in his expression that showed he was trying. Tino was starting to understand the subtle nuances that made up Berwald's emotions. They often weren't immediately obvious in his facial features, but after some practice, the Finn had acquainted himself with the other's body language, and now found it easier to know what he was feeling or thinking. That didn't mean it was a cakewalk, though. The Swede was the most guarded person Tino knew aside from himself and didn't give up anything without a fight.

"So. Where are we going?" Tino asked, trotting beside Berwald to the door .

"Place I know."

"And you're not going to give me any more than that, are you?"

"No." The Swede snatched their coats up and handed the smaller one to Tino.

Wherever they were going was within walking distance, since Berwald didn't bother getting the car. They walked side by side in relative silence, occasionally glancing at one another surreptitiously and darting their gazes away when they caught the other looking back. Several times, Tino tried to find a way to ask his question, but he could never seem to get it out. What if Berwald took offense? What if he didn't? What if he was? The last thought made anxiety spring up in the Finn's belly. As much as he liked Berwald, and as much as he'd grown to trust him, he wasn't sure he would be with that. Not after everything he'd been through.

The music from their destination was spilling out onto the street each time someone opened the door, a deep, smooth bass accompanied by something jazzy and trancelike all at once. Not even to the door and the beat was already making its way into Tino's body infectiously, and his movements were adjusting to the flow of it. The Finn followed Berwald to the bouncer at the door, who simply stepped aside, nodding briefly to the tall Swede. Inside, the atmosphere was warm, close, the lighting dim in most areas of the club. The dance floor and bar were more brightly lit.

"Drinks?" Berwald asked his companion, tilting his head toward the bar.

Tino eyed the bar sullenly. "Fuck."

"What?"

"Nothing, really. They just always ID me in places like this. Drives me nuts. It's like they think I'm twelve or something."

"Don't worry about it," Berwald mumbled. He polished his glasses on his shirt and strode to the bar, pulling up a stool for himself and Tino. "Skanör Akvavit," he told the bartender, and glanced at Tino, slinking up to his side.

"Um... Ketel One, please." The Finn ran a hand back through his hair, sitting down beside Berwald. The bartender gave him a doubtful look, to which Berwald responded with a harsh glare. The man quickly turned away with a shrug. He poured both shots without a fuss, despite glancing at Tino once more in disbelief. The Finn picked up the small glass, gazing through it at the colored lights behind the bar.

"Strong stuff," Berwald commented, tossing back his own liquor. Tino shrugged.

"You know, I used to hate vodka," he commented absently.

"Hm. What changed?"

The boy thought for a moment before replying. "My ex loved the stuff. Somehow, he managed to get me drinking it, and I just haven't been able to quit..." He observed Berwald's reaction from the edges of his vision.

The Swede sat up a little straighter, shifting in his seat, but his facial expression remained the same. "That so."

"Mmh." Tino stared at the clear liquid a moment longer, then put the glass to his lips and tipped it back. He gave himself a light shake. "Ach. Never quite have gotten used to it going down, though."

Berwald was silent, staring at his own refilled glass broodingly. Tino observed him, burning with his inquiry, finally unable to control his curiosity.

"Berwald, you don't have a girlfriend, do you?"

Brilliant green eyes fixed on him, totally unreadable. "No..."

"Are you -"

"Hi." A shy-looking, young blond girl with clear green eyes was standing on the Swede's other side, fidgeting. Berwald glanced up at her.

"Hello." A faint smile tugged at his lips, turning down the usual intensity of his expression.

"I was just wondering... if maybe you would like to dance?" The girl spoke slowly, her nervousness at speaking to the intimidating man clear. Tino had to admire her bravery and watched the response with guilty interest.

Berwald paused for a moment, briefly torn, before saying, "I'm actually here with someone already..." He tilted his head. The girl followed the motion. Tino's eyes widened and he blushed when he realized who Berwald was indicating, but he gave the girl a small wave and a sheepish grin.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't know..."

"It's not a problem."

The girl crept off, red with embarrassment. Berwald's gaze followed her for a moment, then returned to his liquor.

Tino finally got over his own embarrassent, though the blush hadn't fully left his face. "Are you gay?"

The taller blond met his eyes, and Tino had to fight to keep from averting his own violet gaze. "Yes."

The Finn was silent and still, then nodded and knocked back another shot of vodka. "Thank you."

"Hmh." Berwald stood, pushing his glass away. "Would you like to dance?"

Hesitant, the younger man played with his shot glass. He'd had his suspicions, and now that they were confirmed, he wasn't sure what to do. Carry on just as he had before he was certain? He couldn't claim to be insecure around the other, especially since he had admitted to being interested in men and Berwald had shown no reason for him to feel that way. The Swede had been nothing but kind and cordial to him since their first meeting. Though he was frightening outwardly, he had a good heart and he was now a friend. After a moment's deliberation, Tino nodded.

"Sure." He slid off his barstool and slipped his hand carefully in Berwald's as they started walking away from the bar. A jolt ran through Berwald and he glanced at the smaller blond in bewilderment. Tino just smiled and pulled Berwald to the center of the club.

* * *

Berwald's mind had just about snapped when Tino placed his delicate hand into the Swede's own. Now, the haze of surprise in his head had grown as he watched the Finn dance. Berwald had a grace that set him apart, sharply honed by his years of fighting experience. But he'd never seen anyone move quite like Tino on a dance floor. There was something free and beautiful and unmistakably... risqué about his movements. And Berwald wasn't the only one noticing. Other people, other _men_, were checking him out as he danced, and the Swede found pricks of jealousy running up his spine when he wasn't completely focused on Tino himself.

The Finn had the body of a river otter, lithe and supple and smooth in motion, and he was supremely confident with it. Never did he seem to notice anyone but Berwald, not even when others deliberately brushed up against him (which the Swede noticed all too easily). At some points, their bodies came so close, and Tino moved so sensually, Berwald had to take a step back and breathe, focus his mind elsewhere, _any_where but on the other male's body. And Tino was completely oblivious to his reactions. Eventually, the taller blond couldn't handle it any longer.

"I need a break," he mumbled, and slipped away through the crowd easily. Tino blinked in surprise and stared after him, perplexed, before following with difficulty. He was reduced to elbowing his way through the crowd, struggling to keep track of the tall blond. When Berwald vanished out the door, he practically sprinted after him, no longer needing to dodge people as they leapt out of his way.

Berwald leaned heavily against the wall outside the club, breathing the crisp night air deeply. It had just an edge of frost to it, warning of wintry days to come, but for now, it was soothing enough that he could cool himself off in peace. He hadn't reacted quite so strongly toward another in a long time, and was now feeling sheepish and guilty for running from the boy with no explanation. He ran a hand through his hair, taking his glasses off and cleaning them on his shirt. After a moment's relaxation, he noticed someone approaching and donned his glasses once more. Tino trotted toward him, seeming anxious and concerned.

"Are you okay?" he asked, head sloped off to one side as he halted beside the taller man. Wide tanzanite eyes trailed up and down the massive, powerful frame.

"'M fine." The Swede rearranged his jacket carefully, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"That was convincing." Tino leaned against the brick beside him.

"Really."

"Berwald, do you want to just go home?" The Finn watched his friend out of the periphery of his vision. Berwald shrugged half-heartedly. "You sort of seemed a little pissed inside and then you just ran off..."

Berwald chuckled darkly. He, look pissed off? Never. How the other male could even tell he was pissed about anything was beyond him.

"Let's go." Tino pushed casually off the wall and started off down the street. He heard the Swede's soft laughter and slowed, glancing back uncertainly at him. "I'm heading the wrong way, aren't I?"

Berwald nodded, a genuine smile lighting his face as he shrugged off the bricks and started in the other direction. He paused to wait as Tino hurried after him sheepishly.

The walk home was a quiet one. Tino took measured steps, timing each stride and always landing one foot in the center of a sidewalk square and the other on the crack separating it from the next. Berwald's strides covered entire units of the sidewalk at once. Trying to keep pace with the taller male, Tino tripped, lurching toward the ground, only to be caught securely by the arm. Berwald tugged him upright, but when he tried to release the Finn's arm, Tino didn't let go. Blinking in surprise, Berwald glanced down at him.

"What? Is this not okay?" The Finn was appreciative of the darkness, trusting it to hide the heat rising in his face.

"It's fine."

Tino held onto Berwald a little tighter, leaning against him with a sigh.

"Sorry. Should've been honest with you."

"Hm?" Tino looked up at the other blond curiously.

"I should've told you I was gay when I invited you to stay."

"It's not a problem. I didn't tell you I was."

Berwald was silent. "Hmh."

He briefly laid his cheek against Tino's soft blond hair, inhaling that tempting scent. Tino was mildly hesitant but allowed the contact, enjoying Berwald's warmth despite his reservations. The Swede held the door to their building open for his companion. They both stripped off their coats while they waited for the elevator. The Finn jumped when the doors opened and slipped inside ahead of Berwald. He yawned and leaned against the wall, watching the Swede thoughtfully.

"Thanks for taking me out tonight."

Berwald's lips tugged into a small smile. "Any time."

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you run out so fast?"

Silence.

"...Never mind, then."

"Was just getting a little uncomfortable."

"How so?" Berwald looked up at Tino, expression unreadable. "Never mind, then."

"You looked nice."

"What?"

Swallowing thickly, Berwald repeated, "You looked nice. When you were dancing."

The Finn stood with his head tilted off to the side, not comprehending Berwald's point. A heavy blush reddened the Swede's face. The elevator came to a stop at their floor and Tino's eyebrows rose.

"Oh. You liked that?"

"And so did everyone else in a three-meter radius."

"Oh."

Berwald caught the elevator doors as they began to close, letting Tino exit before him, and unlocked the front door. Letting them into the apartment, he dropped the keys on the table and glanced up above his glasses with a sigh. The blond froze. Aqua eyes blinked rapidly for a moment in surprise. Above his glasses, Berwald could see Tino, clearly and without correction. The other male stood so close, Berwald could feel his breath.

"I'm glad you liked it." The hints of a playful smile tugged at Tino's lips and his violet eyes glimmered faintly in the dim light. He stretched up and kissed Berwald on the cheek, eyelashes sweeping against his skin just before he pulled away and retreated to the living room. Berwald followed at a slower pace, stunned and blushing rather heavily.

"Tino..."

"Hm?" Tino turned around curiously, resting one hand against the wall.

It was completely unexpected. Berwald was barely aware of the decision. On some level, he supposed he was, because of the brief flash of self-consciousness and fear of Tino's reaction that shot through his mind. But those quickly dissipated as he kissed the other boy softly but firmly. He felt Tino's initial shock as their lips connected relax into hesitant enjoyment, then pleasure. The slimmer of the two pressed closer, encouraging the Swede to deepen the kiss. Berwald's tongue swiped across Tino's lower lip and the smaller blond's tongue flicked back against it in invitation. Berwald took it. He let his muscle stroke Tino's, roaming his mouth with desire and curiosity.

The Finn also showed surprising experience. His back was flush with the bookshelves, his tongue eagerly working over the Swede's, reciprocating the attention lavished on it, even battling for dominance. The battle was short-lived, however, with Berwald proven the clear winner. The taller blond didn't register what his own hands were doing, only feeling the pawing and tugging and teasing of Tino's hands on him. Tino suddenly released Berwald's lips with a moan, allowing the Swede to continue down his neck, kissing and sucking and nipping at sensitive skin.

The warm, lithe body in Berwald's arms was twisting and arching, sending heated prickles up his spine in waves and leaving a pool of magma growing in his stomach. Nails dug into his shoulders, not hard enough to cause true pain, but hard enough to be noticeable. Tino forcibly dragged Berwald's attention back to his mouth, recapturing the taller male's lips and nipping at the smooth, velvety skin. Slim fingers wound themselves in Berwald's hair and he growled as they tugged gently. The green-eyed blond's tongue ran up the slimmer boy's neck and he began ravishing the edge of Tino's jaw with his mouth. Every little sound to come from Tino's lips, every moan, every gasp, every sigh, made Berwald nearly mad with desire.

A small portion of his brain warned of losing control with Tino, but the animal instinct smugly crushed it. A desperate growl rose in the back of his throat. It had been so long since he'd had this much personal contact with another, let alone contact of this particular variety. It was hard, being alone for so long, so long his body ached for want of human contact and the tension built in him until he snapped. Pounding the shit out of people for Søren only allowed so much release any more. Like an addict, he'd grown a tolerance for the limited amount of release the violence provided. This, here, with Tino, was so much better…

As distant as he was from the rest of the world, Berwald failed to notice a few key changes in the Finn's behavior. He didn't feel the sudden stillness in Tino's muscles or the pace of the boy's breathing become more rapid. He didn't see the violet eyes flutter wide open. He just barely noticed Tino's lips go unresponsive before the hands that had been tugging pleasurably at his hair yanked, hard. Berwald gasped, eyes widening as his head was dragged back with surprising strength. The hold was broken as he staggered back, shock glittering in brilliant sea-green irises. He blinked at Tino, utterly confused and feeling as though he'd been scalped.

The shorter boy was pressed against the shelves, looking panicked and miserable and apologetic all at once. He stared back at Berwald as though he'd seen some sort of phantasm in the room. Mouthing the Swede's name, he lurched forward and was caught in a pair of strong arms before being pulled down onto the sofa. He began babbling senselessly, bits of Finnish further confusing his already garbled speech.

"Berwald, olen pahoillani, I'm so, so sorry, I-I don't–"

"Shh." With that single sound, Tino stopped speaking, and simply remained trembling against Berwald's body. "You're okay. Calm down."

A hand was rubbing gentle circles on Tino's back, warm and soothing. Silent tears began trailing down Tino's face, and he buried his face in Berwald's shoulder. The Swede could feel the liquid soaking into his shirt and he lowered his head, resting his cheek against Tino's.

"Tino." The boy flinched, but lifted his head. "What happened?"

For a moment, their eyes met, and Berwald saw the shadows lurking in the clear amethyst. But Tino glanced away, shutting him out completely, and slid off his lap.

"Nothing. I'm sorry, I'm going to bed." He swiped tears off his cheeks and stared at them, almost seeming puzzled at their appearance. "Goodnight."

Berwald was left sitting on the sofa, cold inside and out, completely and utterly confused by the other boy's reactions. First welcoming of the Swede's affections, then turning an about face on him and running away. The Finn was an enigma. Laying back, Berwald massaged the bridge of his nose in frustration before rolling off the couch and heading upstairs, searching for a way to vent.


	5. Chapter 5

AE: I know I've been a bad, bad person, neglecting this. I'd like to give a personal thank-you to Ceri Siracha and maxari, for helping me realize I was in a rut, and my friendly neighborhood Canadian, for helping me get out of it. This turned out shorter than the others, and it wasn't as easy writing (obviously), but I hope the result is satisfactory. Hopefully, next will be easier. Wish me luck...

* * *

Berwald was up the entire night. When he finally left, the slightest glow of sun hadn't even bothered to appear in the east, and his mind was running the same circuit ad nauseum, centered around the person sleeping downstairs. The only thing he'd managed to do in the hours he spent awake was hack a semblance of some animal into the surface of his desk. It was nondescript and incomplete, a metaphor that lined up uncomfortably with his thoughts on the Finn.

He let himself into Søren's building and had collapsed into one of the chairs to rest for all of ten minutes before the door slammed open. Jumping spasmodically, the Swede nearly sent the chair to the floor, just catching it in time to save himself a concussion on the nearest desk. His boss' grinning face was above him then, looking all too cheery for his present tastes, but it was better than rage and fury any day.

"Just who I was looking for!" Søren gripped the arms of Berwald's chair in his eagerness, but finally picked up on the other man's mood. "What the hell? What bit your ass this morning?"

Discreetly pushing the Dane out of his way, Berwald stood. "You need me for something?"

"Well, Inge managed to find something... I thought you could use it. Now what the fuck happened? Someone run over your puppy?"

"No." Berwald stripped off his coat, tossing it over the chair, and paced across the office. Søren followed, turning him around by the shoulder.

"Come on. Tell me what's wrong. Were you out late last night?" The Dane paused, then inhaled sharply, tugging the taller man's collar back.

"Where'd that come from?" he asked, now immensely curious.

"Where'd what come from?"

This." Dragging the Swede to the bathroom by the shirt, he stood him before the mirror and pulled the collar down again. Berwald was silent.

"Just a bruise," he replied, after a protracted moment spent trying to figure out how Tino had made a mark like that without his notice.

"That is no ordinary bruise, my friend. You got some last night, didn't you?"

"No." Berwald fixed his shirt and returned to the office, Søren trailing behind.

"Come on, Løve. I know for a fact you aren't a total saint." The Dane sat atop a desk beside his friend, smirking. "You can't still be celibate after all this time. You'd snap. I remember what you used to be like..."

"Shut up."

"So you must have found someone to screw around with. Come on. I'm curious." A dangerous glint flashed in Søren's cerulean gaze. Berwald stiffened, sea-green eyes narrowing in response, and the sound of the door opening saved him. Both men straightened, glancing up to see the new arrival. Søren jumped to his feet, a rather ridiculous grin on his face.

"Morning, Ingemar," he greeted the Norwegian blithely. Berwald rolled his eyes. Ingemar gave his boss a cool stare.

"Good morning, Søren." He swept pale blond hair out of his eyes and set a briefcase beside the other two. "I believe this is what you asked for?"

"Right." The Dane hovered over Ingemar, peering over his shoulder.

"Søren."

"Hm?"

"Three paces." Søren took three steps back, forcing Berwald to move. Ingemar removed five photographs from the briefcase. "Ivan Braginski's main associates..."

Each photo had a name printed on it in the Norwegian's clear handwriting. Toris Lorinaitis, Yekaterina "Katyusha" Braginskaya, Natalia Arlovskaya, Edouard von Bock and Raivis Galante.

"Yekaterina Braginskaya and Natalia Arlovskaya. His sisters. One full, one half. The first one, it appears, is only kept about for sentimental reasons. The second... Natalia is, as far as anyone can tell, certifiably insane."

Søren snorted. The girl in the photo looked about nineteen and very serious, but the bow in her pale hair took away from the fear factor. "Batshit."

Ingemar gave him a sharp look and continued. "She's Ivan's favorite attack dog, mostly because she'll do anything he asks without a thought. She's obsessed with him, and as a result, she is probably his most loyal associate. But he fears her."

"Fears this?"

"Yes. Moving on," Ingemar said pointedly. "Toris Lorinaitis, Lithuanian. Braginski's second-in-command and personal bodyguard." He tapped a photograph of a young man with chin-length wavy brown hair, mossy green eyes, and a vulnerable face.

"That's-"

"Yes," Ingemar impatiently cut the Dane off, moving on to a photo of a blond boy with glasses. "Edouard von Bock, Estonian, accountant and hacker extraordinaire for the family. There isn't a thing he can't do with a computer. As a matter of fact, you can be fairly sure he has gathered a great deal of information on all of us by now."

"You saying he's already a step ahead of us?" Berwald cut in, more politely than his boss.

"No. After all, you have me." A smile twitched at the corner of the Norwegian's mouth. "Last but not least, Raivis Galante. From Latvia. He has a record nearly as long and nasty as his boss'. He's a cleaner and a hunter. He's the one who ties up loose ends."

"He's just a kid." The Swede touched the photo of the boy broodingly.

"He is not to be underestimated. He's a trained killer." The sad-faced blonde boy stared up at them with wide violet eyes. "Despite their appearances, these people are our biggest obstacle. They are all highly skilled, dangerous, and willing to do anything for Ivan."

"Sure likes to start 'em young, doesn't he?" Søren muttered, glancing at Berwald. The other stared back impassively. "I say we start with this one. The weakest link, as it were."

"No." Ingemar slammed his hand down on the photo of the other girl, a chesty, absent-looking blonde, almost the complete opposite of her younger half-sister. "That's a bad idea. She may be the weakest of them, but she is the closest to Ivan, and he cares for her."

"She makes the most sense. She's a chink in his armor," Søren argued. "If he cares so much about her, won't he want to make sure she isn't harmed? Won't he want her back?"

"He will. And he'll get her back, but it sure as hell won't be on your terms."

"You want to bet, Inge?"

"Listen to me, Søren. You cannot use her against him." The Norwegian held his ground. For a few tense moments, they stared each other down, until Søren sighed and nodded, albeit grudgingly.

"Fine. Next."

Ingemar relaxed, expression turning to stone once more. "We start with one of these three. I'm leaning toward the hacker."

"Okay. Guy looks easy, anyway."

"You would think so," the Norwegian commented, edging a bit closer to Søren.

"What, he isn't? He looks like the type who got beat up for lunch money."

"What did I tell you about underestimating people?"

"Oh yeah, right. I forgot. After all, you look easy too, but you're really hard to get - Ow!" The Dane winced as Ingemar hit him in the back of the head.

"Shut up. I need to call Erik." He stalked away, red-faced and tense.

Berwald leaned against the wall, watching the scene play out in silence. When Søren turned to him, he kept up his passive stance.

"Don't mention that to anyone," the Dane ordered, still rubbing at the sore spot behind his ear. "He hates the idea of even one person knowing we slept together."

"Doesn't matter." Berwald shrugged. "Everyone knows already."

"Aw, shit..."

Berwald turned away, heading for his office with a hint of a smirk on his face.

* * *

Tino hadn't moved from the center of the bed since he collapsed there after running away from Berwald. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring at the opposite wall blankly, but his absence of expression belied the hyperactivity of his mind. All night, he wondered if the Swede might decide he didn't want him around anymore, and if he would be abandoned again. The more he thought, the more he doubted that Berwald would be that cold after his rebuff, but he was still apprehensive about seeing the other man again. The Finn remained curled on the bed until the early hours of the morning, when he heard the front door open and close.

All the tension went out of the Finn, and he stared at the ceiling for a while before hauling himself down to the kitchen for a cup of something warm and highly caffeinated to keep his brain functioning for the day. Berwald had apparently left without his morning coffee, and Tino felt a little bad about that. Lord knew the man's day just wouldn't kick into gear properly without it. Berwald with no coffee was like a bear kicked out of hibernation mid-winter. Tino drank his mugful in contemplative silence, watching dawn crack out the kitchen window. It was all greys and lavenders, peaceful. It almost managed to soothe him.

The morning routine continued with a long, scalding shower that burned him into thoughtlessness, and the careful process of dressing. Clothed, Tino felt much more in control, and brave enough to take on the lion. Not that he wasn't grateful for the hours of buffer between now and the Swede's arrival at home. Then again, maybe he should just go to work early... Avoid all the awkwardness... But eventually, he'd have to work it out and explain what happened. Awkwardness abundant. The Finn's stream of mental babble continued as he paced around the house, absently straightening objects and dusting things off with his fingers. Briefly, he considered alphabetizing the entire bookshelf in the living room.

It was no good. His entire morning was thrown off. With a sigh, Tino collected his keys and wallet from the front table and trudged out the door, heading to the ground floor. After an aggravatingly slow elevator ride, Tino scampered out onto the sidewalk and headed in no apparent direction. He rarely went out unless Berwald was there or he knew exactly where he was going. He still didn't know his way around this town well. It shocked him sometimes that he'd ever had the ability to wander streets, and in darkness no less, without getting hopelessly lost.

The sun hadn't come up far enough to melt away the chill from the night, and Tino kept up a brisk movement to stay warm without a coat. With no goal in mind, he had the chance to investigate places he'd never seen before, and he wandered in and out of a few places just opening their doors. He picked up an apple pastry at a bakery for breakfast and picked up a cinnamon twist to put in the fridge for Berwald as a shameless ass-kissing gift. He passed a pet store and played with the lab puppies in the window for several minutes. He passed an art gallery and gazed through the panes at several of the works, only to freeze in surprise when he recognized some of the photographs displayed. They belonged to someone he'd known back in the day... Mark, Matt, something with an M... Always film, never digital. The kid had been brilliant, but quiet, shy. It was good to see he'd made something of himself. He definitely deserved it.

Streets passed in a blur, and the Finn payed no attention to the names or the turns, until he was once again lost, though in a much brighter, more active place than before. He wandered to a stone fountain and sat on the edge, pulling out his pastry for breakfast. Considering how tense he'd been before, he felt pretty good. The sun soaked into him, warming him up, he got to take his breakfast in a lovely square, and his spirits had altogether been lifted by his walk.

He was, however, completely oblivious of a pair of eyes watching him from the other side of the plaza.

"Tino?" a familiar voice called out to him. The Finn paused, tilting his head, then jumped up and looked toward the voice.

"Edouard!" Violet eyes widened in surprise and he rushed to meet the other young man, throwing his arms around him. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same!" The other blond pulled back, straightening his glasses. "Small world, isn't it?"

"Definitely. It's been so long! How have you been, Edouard?" Tino clasped his hands over the Estonian's shoulders.

"Reasonably well. Just getting used to the city."

"Same... As a matter of fact, I have no clue where I am right now." Tino glanced around curiously. "It sure is nice here, though. But... What are you even doing in here? Last I remember, you were headed back to Moscow."

"Yeah... There was a change of plans." Edouard's expression changed, darkening with weariness and stress.

"Wait." The Finn's muscles tensed up. "What do you mean by that? Change of plans?"

Edouard fidgeted uncomfortably. "He just...changed his mind."

"You mean...he 's here."

"Yes... I'm sorry, Tino. But if it makes you feel any better, he has no idea you're here. He hasn't mentioned you in months, let alone discussed trying to find you."

His friend's attempt to calm his fears did nothing. The warmth in Tino's violet eyes had been replaced with animal panic and his gaze darted about the square like a hunted man's. Like at any moment, he would see those eyes and that smile, and his life would be over.

"I-I... I have to go," he told the Estonian unsteadily. "It was nice seeing you..." Tino turned and moved away with brisk strides, ignoring Edouard's attempts to call him back. After how far he'd managed to come, there was no way in hell he was going to let that life come back to drag him under. He would force the past back into its little Pandora's box as best he could. As much as he had enjoyed seeing such a dear friend again, he couldn't get close to the boy. That would put him at risk to being discovered by...that monster. The one who haunted his nightmares still, even after all this time.

But now, he had his gallant protector, his lion that frequented his dreams and drove back the darkness, the lion with the aquamarine eyes and the soft pale gold pelt that reminded him so much of his real-life protector... His new life was his protection against the old. As long as he had Berwald to hold on to, he would be fine. If he ever found out about how close Tino was to the Swede though... It would be over for both of them. And if anything happened to Berwald because of him, he would never forgive himself.


	6. Chapter 6

When Berwald stepped in the front door that evening, he found himself in a perfectly dark house. Everything was dead silent, still, eerily peaceful. Exhaling slowly, he turned the light on, expecting someone to be waiting for him, possibly with sharpened knives and screwed-on silencers. Instead, all that waited for him was a Finn sprawled on the sofa, holding a bottle of rum with loving care. He halted in surprise, blinking at the smaller man.

"Tino?" The Swede set his coat on the back of a chair and approached his roommate. Hazy violet eyes finally turned on him, sweeping up and down his form.

"Welcome home, Berwald! Mmm... Sorry about the liquor..." He pointed to the bar of the kitchen, where a row of empty bottles revealed his activities for the evening.

"What're you doing, Fin?"

"Drinkin'," the smaller male slurred. "What's it look like?" He tried to take a sip of the rum and sloshed alcohol on his shirt. "Aw... Fuck."

Berwald's mouth fell open a little as he stared at Tino, watching the Finn attempt unsuccessfully to wipe the rum away with one hand. "Why're you drinking?"

"'Cos I like it," Tino sang, and giggled when he almost dropped the bottle. "Oops... That woulda been bad... What a shame to be... Hm... I like this stuff." He tried taking another swallow.

"Think maybe you had enough..." Berwald pulled the bottle from Tino's hands and headed to the kitchen.

"Hey! Get back here..." Tino rolled over and fell off the sofa. "Tha's mine."

"I paid for it." The Swede searched for the lid and screwed the bottle shut tight. "This stuff'll kill you."

"Please! I'm Finnish! I'm... I have a stomach of steel. I can handle anything!" He giggled maniacally, staggering into Berwald and prodding his muscular chest. "Even. You." Berwald's brow furrowed as he stared down at Tino. The smaller blond was running his fingertips up and down along his sternum, and it was more than a little awkward. He kept staring at Berwald's chest like he'd never seen something so fascinating. One slim hand splayed out across a solid pectoral, pressing gently. "You're so...big. And strong. And handsome. You're like a beast. A scary, handsome, sexy beast. You should have a boyfriend. Why don't you have a boyfriend, Berwald?"

An uncomfortable ripple travelled down the man's body. This was not something he wanted to discuss. "Don't need one."

"Why not? You're all alonely here by yourself... You just work... I bet it's 'cos you-you... You're too afeared to get close. You use your...your beastyness to push everyone away. You don't wanna be st-sticked in one place b'cos that... But no one wants that! That's a turrible way to live! Everyone needs someone to...to... What was I saying?"

"Beastyness."

"Huh?"

"Terrible way to live."

"Oh yeah. You're scared, so you scare everyone else. It's why you always have that angry face. With the little wrinkle spot between your eyebrows." The Finn attempted to mimic Berwald's characteristic scowl, scrunching up his face. "You know, I bet you haven't got any in like, four...y-years!" He held up three fingers, then added his thumb. "And I think we should fix that. I will help you fix that, because as your-" he hiccupped, "friend, I am conssserned about your well-being, and it's not healthy for a hot young stud such as youself to be sooo...pent up. Too much sexual frustration is bad for you! I am willing to do whatever it takes to fix yer issue."

The Swede shook his head. "You need to sober up..."

"No. You need to _loosen_ up. Come on, Berwald. Loosen up." Sneaky hands slid up beneath the hem of the taller man's shirt.

A quiet grunt of surprise escaped Berwald as he caught hold of Tino's wrists. Despite the drunkenness, those fingers could brush over his skin in just the right way... He forced those tricky hands back down to Tino's sides. "Calm down, Fin. You're drunk."

"No shit... Where's that rum..." The Finn straightened to peer around Berwald, searching for his bottle.

"No more." One strong arm wrapped around the smaller blond's waist and he found himself floating back to the sofa. He giggled, clinging to Berwald, then slipping a hand down the Swede's pants. Berwald dropped him gracelessly on the sofa in shock. "Tino..."

"Don't 'Tino' me," the Finn grumbled. "I know what it is you want. You want what they all want, don't you? You want _this_." He ran his hands down his body suggestively, fixing clouded eyes on his roommate. "It's okay, I dun' blame you. I been told I'm _irresistible_... Boys think I'm pretty. Girls think I'm pretty. And they all want the same thing," he sang, rocking back and forth on the sofa. "Sex, sex, sex... I'm good at that. Wanna see? I can show you." Tino's hands began tugging at the button of his pants, but Berwald dove forward to stop them. "Ooh, wanna do it yourself, then?"

"No." Berwald forced Tino's hands back to his sides. "Stay dressed."

"You're no fun..." Tino went limp, falling into the other's arms.

"Sit up..."

"Dun' wanna..." He nuzzled against Berwald's abdomen. "You're all warm and muscly..."

_Why me?_ Berwald asked the universe silently, trying to hold his drunk, amorous roommate back. The only thing that kept him from just giving in and dragging the little Finn back to the bedroom was a very deeply-ingrained sense of chivalry. Plus, if he took advantage, there was a distinct chance Tino would wake up horrified and leave, right after giving Berwald a smack for the ages.

Tino was once again trying to literally get into the Swede's pants, and had skilfully undone the button and zipper with his teeth. The high functionality of his drunkenness was impressive, Berwald decided, but a bit disappointing. Now his arousal was that much more evident. He pulled back to fix his jeans and left to sit across the room.

"Hey! Get back here..." Tino tried to scowl. "I was busy."

Berwald shook his head, watching Tino with unreadable eyes. He had never seen the other blond in this state before, and it disturbed him. Not once had he ever asked for more than a glass or two of wine, a couple shots, maybe a beer. This Tino was loaded on three beers, a half bottle of wine, and part of a bottle of rum. At a party, in a total stranger, he might have found this amusing, but not at home with his friend.

"Why did you do this, Fin?"

"I like drinking. It makes everything go away..."

"Makes what go away?" Berwald's brow furrowed slightly.

"Everything. All the bad memories and unhappy feelings... They all..." Tino stared off into space, expression dreamy. "It's like drain cleaner."

"Sure..."

"You know. Gets all the ickies out."

"Right."

"Like right now... I know I supposed to be doing something... I'm in big trouble..." The Finn gestured at the ceiling to illustrate "big". "But I dun' care! Dat's what's great about drinking."

"Why're you in trouble?" Berwald perked up a bit in curiosity.

There was a long, drawn-out pause, and Tino burst into tears. The Swede stiffened in his chair, shocked at the abrupt change in emotion. Drunk and off-kilter he could handle, sobbing and blubbering he could not. Hesitantly, he rose from the chair and crossed the room, settling on the sofa and placing one large hand on his roommate's trembling shoulders. Tino flinched and continued crying all over himself, staining his sleeves with salty tearstains. Berwald opened his arms and wrapped them around the other's slim form uncertainly and patted his back. The blubbering turned to focus on him, rubbing moisture all over his shirt.

"I-I jus' wanna be free... No more angryness and scaredness. Just peace. Dun' I deserve sum peace? Happyness? L-love? Why dun' anyone love me!" Tino went back to sobbing against Berwald's shirt. "No one deserves to be alone! I wanna have sumbuddy... Alone is scary..."

"I do fine alone," Berwald couldn't help but add, a bit dismayed by Tino's rambling thoughts.

"You're okay though, 'cos you dun' really need anyone. I need a someone..."

"What manes you think I don't need someone?"

Tino paused in his sobbing to think. "I... I dunno... You just seem that way. Like you dun' really care."

"I do."

Tino sat up and looked Berwald in the face. "I'm sorry, Berwald..." He sniffled and wrapped his arms around the Swedish man's neck. "I-I..."

"It's okay." Berwald gave him a gentle squeeze. "Maybe you should go to bed."

"I'm fine! I...actually I feel icky..."

Berwald held him out at arm's length. "What?"

"Dun' feel good..." The color was completely absent from Tino's face.

Berwald practically hauled Tino off the floor as he rushed him to the bathroom, praying that he wouldn't have to scrub Tino's stomach of alcohol off the floor that evening. He set the Finn beside the toilet and stepped back, watching him anxiously. Tino slumped down and hung on the edge of the toilet, issuing quiet groans of discomfort.

"Do you need anything?" Berwald asked, reaching out to him, then pulling back hesitantly. Tino shook his head. "Feel sick?"

"Yeah..." Hanging onto the toilet seat, Tino leaned forward as if to vomit. "I feel awful... My tummy..." He coughed.

"Need to throw up?"

"I can't..."

"Stick a finger down your throat...?"

"I dun' have a gag reflex," the Finn moaned, hunching over the bowl.

With a sigh, Berwald knelt beside him, rubbing his back as soothingly as possible. After a few minutes, the smaller blond stiffened and emptied his stomach into the toilet. Berwald winced in sympathy, trying not to look or listen too much. Just when it seemed Tino was through, he was retching again. Berwald stayed close, waiting patiently for him to be through with it, then got up to dampen a cloth. He swept it over the Finn's clammy forehead and let him clean off his own mouth.

"Th-thanks," Tino muttered, curling up on the rug.

"Welcome." Berwald took the rag to rinse it off. When he turned back, Tino was passed out. His entire slender body shivered, curling up a little tighter into itself.

Berwald bent to scoop him up as gently as possible and carried the Finn to the bedroom. The blond head lolled pathetically on his arm, and the limp body still trembled against him. He almost dropped Tino as he struggled with the covers, then rolled him onto the mattress. The Finn flopped onto his face but slept on, so Berwald organized him in the middle of the bed and hauled the covers up.

For a while, he regarded Tino. Now that he wasn't in misery, his face was peaceful, and a god-awful smell wafted from him. Berwald tried not to gag on it and fanned the blond in an attempt to blow the scent away. It had been a long time since he'd gotten this plastered, but he knew Tino wouldn't be feeling pretty tomorrow. The only explanation for such sudden, erratic behavior from Tino was the other night. He must have shaken Tino rightly for him to go on such a bender the next day. Berwald let the guilt fall onto his shoulders. By now, he felt he should be used to reactions of fright, anger, or borderline insanity when he tried getting too close. Very few people were ever not afraid of him. Most of those were bigger than he was, and scarier. He patted the smaller male's hair timidly and left without making a sound.

* * *

He was lost. No matter which way he turned, no matter how many times he told himself this way was the right way, Tino knew he was lost. There was no direction, no astral bodies to guide him, no moon, though everything was lit in pale, sharp silver. Through the seemingly infinite paths of the maze, he ran, sometimes trotted, but never walked. He had to keep moving, and he had to stay lost. That was the only way he knew to be safe. There was always that whispering, the quiet voice that seemed to follow him, coming from nowhere, that kept him going. He couldn't let himself be caught. One turn after another after another, trying to leave behind what always found him no matter how hard he tried.

The Finn also became very aware that he was being followed. Something moved through the thick forest of sunflowers that made up the maze, slipping easily between the thick, rough stems, running when he ran, slowing when he slowed, turning when he turned. Each time he tried to see his follower, the form vanished into shadows, but he caught the occasional flash of gold from it, a bright blur that left an imprint on his eyes in the relative darkness. He tripped and the form paused, not continuing until he picked himself up and sprinted onward.

Turn after turn, dead end after dead end, Tino went on, scratched by the wicked plants, hands scraped by the ground, exhausted from the constant movement. He felt sick, but he had no choice but to keep going. Another corner and he was nearly floored by the heavy wave of copper scent that hit him. Thick, hot, metallic air crept into his nose and mouth, and he was truly about to vomit. The Finn backed up, only to find himself flat against a wall of spiny stems and rough sunflower leaves, tendrils tangling around him. He tore free and proceeded down the trail despite the strengthening of the smell.

Dark pools and spatters of liquid covered the ground and dripped from the leaves of the giant flowers, occasionally landing on his shoulder or causing him to slip. The whispering voice vanished and was replaced by soft, childish laughter. It echoed through the path, sending chills down Tino's spine and across his skin.

"Tino... Where are you? I've been waiting for you for so long." Tino froze in his path, stiff with fear, unwilling to go forward. "I know you are there. I can hear your breath, and your heartbeat, like a little rabbit's. Come here, little rabbit. I want you."

His breath stopped. Tino didn't move a muscle for several moments, then lunged forward, sprinting in the only direction he could, ignoring the blood splashing up when he ran through a puddle. A rumble pulsed through the air, making his hair stand on end, and urging him faster. His stalker bounded through the sunflowers at his side, and he struggled to outpace it, wanting nothing more than to leave it behind and be alone. When he saw the end of the path, opening out into a wide, free space, he cried out with relief and charged through it.

But it was not the exit of the maze. It was the center. And he charged right into a trap.

Ivan turned to face him, smiling that familiar smile, the one that could be so cruel and sweet at once. In his hand was a familiar pipe, stained dark with blood, swinging to and fro like a pendulum. His movements as he approached the frozen blond were slow, deliberate, as if he was approaching a wild animal and he didn't want to frighten it off.

"I've been waiting for you, rabbit."

Another warning rumble trembled in the air as his follower finally exited the maze, sliding effortlessly from between the stalks despite thick mane and tail. The lion padded leisurely between the Finn and the Russian, eyes fixed on the latter with deadly intent.

Ivan looked displeased, twirling the pipe in his hand skillfully. "Stay away, lion. He is mine."

The beast snarled in response, curling his upper lip back to expose glistening canines. His muscles coiled as he readied to spring.

"Bad kitty." The moment the big cat leapt, Ivan brought his pipe down toward his head. Tino screamed.

"Berwald!"

The first thing Tino woke to was the brain-shattering sound of a door slamming into a wall. He cringed and was further tormented by a brilliant light glaring into his face, and his hyper-sensitive eyes.

"Tino?" Berwald was staring at him with what the Finn would characterize as his alarmed expression, though it was more of a surprised glare. The difference between this and his usual expression was subtle. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Berwald..." Tino rubbed at his temples wearily. His head throbbed something terrible, and when he exhaled, he caught a whiff of poisonous dragon-breath. That smell alone was almost enough to have him dry-heaving. "Is there something you want?"

The Swede changed to his puzzled glare. "You called me."

"Oh." There was a moment's pause before Tino repeated, "I'm fine," and burrowed back under the covers to hide his pain from the world. After several moments of silence, he almost thought Berwald had left again when he felt a weight settling on the bed and a hand on his back.

"Do you need anything?" the taller man asked, keeping his voice low and soft. _Bless him, he understands_, Tino thought with some pleasure.

"Coffee would be spectacular," he mumbled through the blankets. Berwald nodded, though his companion couldn't see.

"Black?"

"Sure."

The weight lifted off the mattress, but the hand lingered briefly on Tino's back.

The Finn could see no reason for forcing himself out into the misery of the world in the midst of his hangover, and chose to lay beneath the covers until he truly couldn't stand the scent of his own breath. With reluctance, he crawled out of Berwald's bed and slunk across the room to close the blinds before tripping into the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror showed that he looked just as terrible as he felt, pale skin blotchy, eyes puffy and red with raccoon dark circles, dry lips chapped at the edges. Then there was his hair... He couldn't believe he'd allowed the other blond to see him like this. No attempts of combing or smoothing with fingers worked, so he promptly divested and headed into the shower, bringing a toothbrush and toothpaste along for the trip.

The cold water was not only shocking, but enlightening, bringing back memories of the previous day that the alcohol had temporarily erased. The more Tino recalled, the more upset, frightened, and disturbed he became. Oh God. He'd hit on Berwald last night. He had always been a fairly lucid drunk, always remembering the night's happenings eventually, but he would have given a kidney to keep from recalling his "episode" the night before. If memory served correct, he'd even cried. Just thinking about it convinced him that maybe, it was time to practice a little abstinence. From then on, no more than three at a time, he resolved. One night of humiliation was more than enough.

It took a while, but he managed to work his way up to the Ivan problem. The Russian was a major player in his nightmares, forcing him to remember many things he'd tried to flush out with hard liquor, quickening his fears, and dredging up feelings that he'd long ago formed distaste for, but still had. He couldn't argue them, no matter how many times he told himself that Ivan was a sociopath, pure evil, Satan's little helper, or hell, maybe the man himself. They gripped his heart, sick black tendrils suffocating him whenever they got ahold, injecting him with the addictive poison that was Ivan's love. He could feel the stuff pumping through him already, twisting his thoughts to something that the Russian had created in their brief time together. Tino felt ugly just dwelling on it, and hurried to get out of the shower and restore himself before facing Berwald again.

When he entered the kitchen, still drying his hair, Tino found a mug of coffee and the cinnamon twist from the previous day waiting for him.

"Oh... Berwald, this isn't mine." The Finn nudged the plate away, receiving a strange look from Berwald.

"Hn?"

"It was for you..." Tino smiled sheepishly. "As an apology. Really, it's been a shitty few days, and it's all my fault. I'm sorry."

Berwald just tilted his head slightly, eyes shining behind his glasses, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. "We could share."

An even deeper flush colored Tino's face. "B-but it's yours... I got it for you..."

"If it's mine, I can do what I want with it." Berwald tore the twist in half, taking part for himself and leaving the rest for Tino.

The Finn thanked his housemate quietly and started picking at his half of the pastry, still beet red from the roots of his hair to his collar. The coffee slowly kicked his brain into gear, and his hangover seemed to vanish. The magical thing about being who he was. Hangovers were a cakewalk.

"Feeling better?" Berwald unbraided the pastry, eyes fixed on Tino.

"Yeah. Tons. Loads." He couldn't look at the Swede. All he could see was a blurry image of his hands on the man's pants and a flash of what he thought were gecko-print boxers. He had humiliated them both last night, and preferred to go on pretending he didn't remember a thing.

"Got pretty plastered."

"Yeah, it happens sometimes."

An awkward silence hung between them, Berwald stirring his own coffee, Tino still tearing at a piece of cinnamon twist. Neither looked at the other.

"So I guess you were a bit out of it."

"Something like that..." The violet-eyed man cleared his throat. "I was just a little upset last night, and I apologize, once again..."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Berwald replied, with an edge to his voice. The Finn finally glanced up, and wished he hadn't. Berwald was giving him an intense stare from over his glasses, indicating that while Tino could pretend to forget, the Swede could not. The taller man said nothing further though, preferring to take a sip of coffee and finish his cinnamon twist.

"Actually, Berwald... There is something I wanted to tell you." When the Swede gave a grunt of affirmation, he continued. "Last night, I know I shouldn't have gone on a bender, but recent developments pushed me to it. Not like they excuse anything I did," he added hastily. "But I was trying to keep my mind off my problems and figure out how to tell you that I think it's time that I leave."

Berwald's head snapped up. "Beg pardon?"

"I've been here so long, I've out worn my welcome, I've eaten your food, used your kindness, and I think it's time for me to go. I've made enough money to pay you back for some... I'm sorry I can't do more, but I hope what I can give you will be enough."

The Swede was silent for several moments, eyes unreadable, and the wrinkle between his brows deepened. "Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you leaving?"

More silence hung between them, and Tino ran a hand back through his hair anxiously. "It's just time... I never stay in a place for long, Berwald. I can't. It's...hard to explain, and I'm sorry. As much as I wish I could stay here... I mean, I love being here with you," the Finn admitted. "You're one of the...kindest, sweetest, _quietest_ people I've ever known, you've made me feel so welcome, like I belong here. And I thank you so much for letting me stay with you. Having a home has been nice..." Tino trailed off, voice trembling. "I'm going to...to miss..." Tino found his vision beginning to blur. The first of the tears slipped down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away, only to have more cloud his eyes. His throat ached, and he could no longer hold back a sob caught in his chest.

Strong arms encircled him, embraced him, pulling him against a warm, solid body. Tino let them manipulate him and curled instinctively into it, resting his cheek on the broad chest and tucking his head beneath the taller blond's chin. Tears ran down the Finn's cheeks and leaked between his lips, bitter and salty on his tongue. Hoping Berwald would forgive him, he rubbed his face into the man's relatively dry shirt to clear them away. The familiar musky, natural Berwald-scent filled his nose, soothing him as they gently rocked back and forth. Tino was a little surprised. Berwald was better at this comforting thing than he ever would have thought. He was a quiet, secure presence that the Finn could cling to. And cling to Berwald he did, matching his breaths with the other's, gradually calming his sobs. He sniffled quietly when they stopped.

"Berwald?"

"Hm?"

"...Thank you."

He felt the Swede's nod of affirmation, then the soft press of lips to his hair and warm breath running between the golden strands.

"You're welcome."

Tino let his arms rest loosely around Berwald's waist as he tilted his head back to look the man in the face. Solemn ocean eyes stared down at him. They had that see-through-you look in them, like they often did when Berwald looked at Tino. That look had always scared him, or made him very nervous. He barely acknowledged it now though, placing one hand gently on the Swede's cheek and leaning up to press their lips together. He kept the kiss soft and chaste, felt it returned by Berwald with equal softness.

"Don't want you to leave," the Swede murmured, reaching up to brush a bit of hair from Tino's eyes.

"I think I have to, Berwald..." Tino sighed, leaning into his body again. "There are things... If I stay, bad things might happen..."

"Doesn't matter." Berwald held him a little tighter. "I want you to stay."

"Berwald..."

"I don't care."

"You should. I do. I wouldn't forgive myself if something were to happen to you because of my stupid mistakes..." Tino rubbed at the Swede's lower back absently. "There isn't a good way to explain this."

"Then don't. Just stay." Berwald, for one, knew he was being selfish. If Tino thought he was in it deep as he was, he had another thing coming. The larger man just prayed it was a long time coming. He knew eventually, he wouldn't be able to keep his lives separate. Tino would find the guns he kept hidden, but didn't use on principle, and would realise he wasn't all he seemed. Or he would be singled out by one of Berwald's enemies and find himself snared in the dark web of the man's past. Or worse, one of the family might find out about him and report it directly to Søren. The last thing he wanted was for the boss to find out he was keeping secrets. The Dane hated that. He liked the idea that he knew everything that went on in the lives of his family members, and Tino might be used to punish Berwald for his secrecy. So many things could go wrong.

But Berwald had to weigh those with the positives of getting Tino to stay. For the longest time, he hadn't had anything that he didn't care to lose. He was alone, relatively. The people he had once considered "family" were now the very ones he tried to escape. He had distanced himself from them, but was still tied to them in so many ways, through loyalty, force, and the fact that he had no one else. But now he did. Tino was a little piece of the world that he could keep all to himself, someone he could count on and protect. After all, the violet-eyed man was so small, and Berwald felt a deep, intrinsic need to protect him. Maybe he was stereotyping, but there was something appealing to the thought. It made him more the white knight and less the black pawn that he'd been for so long. With a sigh, the Swede lifted Tino's chin to look him in the eyes. It was with pleasure that he noted the blond didn't flinch away so much when their gazes met.

"Tino. Will you stay with me?" He received a number of soft indecisive noises, and was about to release his friend in defeat when the Finn responded.

"I suppose I can stay for a while longer... Just while I'm figuring things out. I don't have any clue where I'm going to go yet, or what I'm going to do, and I only just got the money to replace my old camera... Okay, I'll stay. It might just be for a little bit, though. Only a few days."

"Right." Berwald nodded in understanding, but his eyes were bright with the contentment of winning this battle. He could do a lot with a few days.

Tino laughed unsteadily. "Stop looking at me like that... This doesn't mean I can stay forever. Just until I get things figured out."

"Of course..." Berwald gave him a small, smug smile.

The Finn hit him. 


End file.
